


Flirting With Death

by drippingpen



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Grim Reaper Keith, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Slow Burn, also death, idk how else to describe it, no main characters tho, soul connections
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 53,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9293690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drippingpen/pseuds/drippingpen
Summary: Keith commits the ultimate taboo as a grim reaper: he saves a life.More specifically, he saves Lance's life.Now they are forever linked, unable to survive without the other. Keith must protect Lance from the forces that are trying to right Keith's wrong and kill Lance.





	1. How Lance Died

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there are mild descriptions of blood in this work, but it's super minimal. Like I'd say it's about at the level of what you'd see in a PG-13 marvel movie.
> 
> enjoy my 2 am sleep deprived drabbles
> 
> also uh don't try this at home pls

This is the story of Lance’s death:

 

He’s sitting in the car, fiddling with the radio dials, and glancing at the empty highway out of the side of his eye. The winter chill has stolen the sun from the sky; the only source of light that remains are rows of lamp posts illuminating the streets. It’s 5 am in the morning.

Lance gives a last desperate attempt at finding a station not soiled with the sound of static. The radio hums and the car starts blaring out an early 2000’s hit. Lance grins at his luck and finally pulls his eyes away from the dial. He focuses on the road just in time to see his car smash into the side of a bridge. 

 

Lance is laying in the cold snow. There is a sharp pain in his neck and he can’t move. The cold air licks at the blood spilling out of his wounds. He cannot speak. He cannot breathe. All he can do is listen to the whistling wind and the radio in his car, still blaring the song _Toxic_.

_I die as I lived,_ he thinks. _Listening to Britney…bitch._

Someone approaches him. Despite the thick layer of snow covering the ground, no footsteps are scarred into the blanket of white. The man sits down beside the dying body and watches the color fade from its face. 

“Do you want me to change the station so you can die to a better song?” the stranger asks. Lance can’t move his head to give the stranger the strangled gasp of horror he deserves. He’s still completely immobilized. Instead, he writes him a very strongly worded letter in his mind. 

_Dear Piece of Shit,_

_how even dare you_

_Yours Truly,_

_Lance_

The stranger laughs. “Okay, okay! Don’t touch the radio, gotcha.”

_Did I say that outloud?_ The stranger doesn’t answer this time. Instead, he lowers his head to inspect Lance’s neck. Lance attempts to look out of the corner of his eyes to identify the stranger, but his vision is too spotted and blurry to make out anything other than colors. Lance is sure that the stranger is gently nudging the glass shard in his neck, but he still feels no pressure. Despite the close proximity, the man emanates no heat from his presence. Lance is shivering now and his fingers have lost all sense of feeling. The stranger chuckles. 

“The all favored game: will you bleed out first or die from hypothermia?”

Lance mentally flips him off. _What kind of dick just sits around dying bodies and doesn’t try to call for help?_

“It’s not my job to call for help. I just get to, uh, chill? I guess? Till you die, at least,” Lance can barely make it out, but he thinks the man has now moved to lay down on the ground next to him as if they were just a couple of dudes casually stargazing in the below zero temperature. “Then I get to lead you to the afterlife.”

_So are you like, an angel?_

“So to speak… more like a grim reaper,” he answers casually. Well, damn. All his angel pick-up lines are now deemed completely useless. The stranger gives a small huff of laughter at this. 

Grim reapers are sort of neutral ground, right? Are they tied to any religion? It was so depressing to think of what would happen afterward. God, Lance did _not_ want to spend all of eternity in some sort of hell. It sounded so sweaty and _dry._ He could practically hear his pores screaming now. 

_…what’s the afterlife like?_

“Can’t tell you till you’re there,” the man says smugly.

Lance 90% believed this guy on his whole powerful immortal being spiel, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to strangle the dude to death. 

_Are you always this much of a dick, or am I just lucky?_

The stranger rests his head on his arm and gazes at Lance. “You know, for someone dying, you’re awfully calm about it.”

The words haunt Lance. After the stranger mentions it, the reality of the situation hits him like a bag of rocks. 

He was dying. He was going to die. He was going to miss his sister’s wedding, he would never get to see Tina grow up, he was never going to play another horrible wonderful game of monopoly with his horrible wonderful friends, or walk in the living room after a late shift and see his mom passed out on the couch after waiting for him to come home. Would his mom ever find out what had happened to him? Would anyone?

His little sisters and brothers would be stuck in the morgue’s waiting room as the adults shuffled down the cold tiled hallways. The sanitized dead air would hang heavy, filled only with the sounds of his mother’s sobs. They would move past the metal doors and see his body- pale and broken. He didn’t want to see his family cry. He couldn’t hurt them. They were struggling enough as it was. He had to figure out something.

Lance attempts to sit up but is choked down by his wounds. The blood starts gush faster out of his neck and he can feel it pooling in the back of his throat. 

Oh god, he was dying.

Tears start to burn at the edges of his eyes and they soon run down his face. The hot tears sear his frozen cheeks and land softly on the snow. It feels like someone was tracking a knife down his skin, making the hot burning sensation last long after the tears froze. He was going to miss _everything_.

The stranger was sitting up now, his head buried in his knees. Lance blinks away his tears and looks up at the man. All he can make out is a blurry image of black against the white of the snow. The man mumbles a string of curses, increasing in volume as he raises his head and turns to look at Lance. 

Lance swears it has to be a delusion, or more goddam snowflakes falling in his goddam eyes. No one was _that_ perfect.But despite any excuse, any explanation Lance comes up with, he can’t deny the image of the boy’s face as it still remains crystal clear years later.

The first thing Lance notices are the eyes. Dark and framed with long lashes, hiding a glimmer of color he can’t discern. The face is pale and smooth, the lips soft and tinted pink. His dark glossy hair frames his face, glittering with small snowflakes that were left resting and whole, untouched by the heat of a living creature. If Lance’s heart hadn’t already stopped at this point, it sure as hell was screwed now. 

“Fuck you,” the boy said as tears threatened to spill. “This is my first goddam case on my own and you- you have to be all _sentimental_ and actually _care_ and- and- fuck you!” The stranger stands up and storms towards the car. Lance still can’t turn his head, but from what he hears, the stranger is rummaging around the wreck.

_What are you-_

“Don’t you think another goddam thing, I swear to god!” the stranger yells from within the wreck. Lance’s breaths are shortening and he chokes as his tongue begins to dry. The cold air has his jaw frozen and the glass in his neck digs deeper at every attempt Lance makes to fill his lungs with air. The metallic taste is swimming around his head. His vision blinks out for a second. 

Lance can barely register the stranger stomping back to his body. A small beeping is heard to his side. He faintly recognizes it. 

_Is that my phone-_

“What the fuck did I just say?” the boy snaps back. For a pretty face, he sure was short tempered. The beeping pauses for a moment as the stranger whispers another expletive. He raises the phone to his cheek.

“Hi, yes. I’d like to report a car crash under the West 49 bridge on Highway 72. There is a body and he needs immediate medical attention. If there isn’t an ambulance here in the next 351 seconds, he will die,” the boy throws the phone back towards the crash and hovers over Lance. Lance takes another mental snapshot of the grim reaper. At least one of the last things he’ll ever see was fucking gorgeous. 

The boy’s eyes widen as a blush threatens to take over his whole face. He looks over his shoulder for a moment, as if waiting for someone to stop him. He turns to Lance once more and leans close.

“I’m going to get so fucked for this,” he says, his voice harsh. He tentatively places a hand on Lance’s neck, right where the fatal glass shard lay embedded. Lance expects some violent motion of the boy pulling the shard out, blood spilling everywhere and a sudden shock of healed senses. Instead, the boy takes a deep breath and pushes the glass further into Lance’s skin. The pain is unbearable. Lance desperately wants to scream out in agony, but all his body can manage to produce is a fast stream of tears flowing from his eyes. The grim reaper winces as the glass slit through the muscle. The stranger slaps at his own neck, hopelessly clawing at the skin. When he lowers his hand once more, Lance makes out a trail of blood dripping down the boy’s neck. A deep cut was born on his skin. 

After a moment of pained silence, the boy gasps out. For the first time that night, Lance can see the grim reaper’s breaths crystallize in the freezing air. His skin is brighter somehow, his pale cheeks slightly ruddier, healthier. Somehow he had managed to make himself look even more breathtaking. 

“Stop that,” the boy breathes out, still trying to control his pain. Lance gulps. 

 

Wait.

 

Lance could breathe. He takes advantage and inhales an exorbitant about of air, choking on the cold and snowflakes. “Take smaller breaths or you’ll just speed up the hypothermia,” the grim reaper snaps. Lance nods slightly, reveling in how he can now move his neck. 

The stranger stands up and brushes the snow off his black clothing. He looks down at Lance once more.

“If you tell anyone what happened here tonight, I will personally come find you, and kill you myself,” he growled. Lance gives him a nod, and, in a fit of desperation, manages a feeble wink. The boy’s nostrils flare in anger as his skin is once more consumed in a flustered blush. He turns and storms away yelling a “Fuck you!” just as the sirens are heard in the distance. 

* * *

“Mrs. Sanchez, may I speak to you privately?”

The mother wipes at her tears stained cheeks and nods. She follows the doctor out of the hospital room, glancing briefly back at her sleeping son.

“As you should know, he is making a full recovery. We are very excited about the results,” the doctor says. Mrs. Sanchez smiles briefly, emotionally exhausted from the past week. Hesitant in her composure, the doctor looks down at her clipboard, unable to meet the woman’s intense stare. “Has your son ever had… heart problems before, Mrs. Sanchez?”

“Not that I know of,” the woman manages to say, her voice hoarse. The doctor presses her lips together and looks up from her chart. Nothing is making sense. 

“We have noticed some… irregularities,” she begins. The mother’s dark skin pales at with worry.Her hair is tied in a messy bun, greasy and unkempt. It looks like she hasn’t left his bedside since joining him a few days ago, refusing to sleep. She wrings her hands nervously.

“When he first arrived in the hospital, his heart rate was at a surprisingly healthy 72 beats per minute. But every day since, it has been drastically decreasing. It now stays stagnant at a low 10 beats per minute,” the doctor says. She pretends that she doesn’t notice the tears starting to well up again in the mother’s eyes. “We’re at a bit of a loss, Mrs. Sanchez. He is recovering quickly, all of his cuts have closed and he is responding remarkably well to the physical therapy…”

“Then what’s wrong with him?” the mother asks, wiping angrily at her tears. 

“Nothing is wrong, he’s actually doing better than most patients. It’s just quite… well, he shouldn’t be alive. Medically, it makes no sense. And yet, he’s continuing to do impossibly well. His brain and motor functions are all stable,” The doctor glances back into the room, noting how the heart rate monitor has still not made a sound the entire conversation. “Your other son mentioned that your family doesn’t have a history of heart conditions. I’m embarrassed to say, I’m not sure how this is possible.”

She stares up at the doctor in confusion. “My other son?” _Everyone’s still in Cuba._

“Yes, he left shortly after Lance’s surgery.”

Mrs. Sanchez nods dumbly and looks back into the room. The monitor sputters out a single short beep and goes silent once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want this continued pls comment cuz idk if I'm going to keep with it idk
> 
> i'm not trying to hold you hostage or anything lol- it's just that i have this other fic rn sooo0o000o0o0ooooo000o
> 
> just trying to gauge if people would actually be interested in this idea
> 
> also i knooo this is super short but if people like it- i promise waaaay longer chapters
> 
> thx for reading!!!! <3  
> [my tumblr](http://www.letlancelive.tumblr.com/)


	2. A Death Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Months Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ummmmmsooooo HOLY FUCK????  
> SO? MANY? COMMENTS?? Thank you guys holy fuck!  
> like the entire time i wrote that i was just muttering "fuck it" after every line  
> Jesus that was so motivating FUCK (and also insanely nerve wracking)
> 
> This was supposed to be a MUCH longer chapter, but I'll be out of town tomorrow, so (after seeking professional advice) I figured I'll hit you guys with what I have and update with the next part in a couple days.
> 
> also i hate writing in present tense so fuck it

_Don’t think about Them. Think about Shakira, instead._

“You guys ready yet?” the waitress tapped her pen on the pad of paper, staring unamused at the group of three. Despite the menu containing only eight items of breakfast food in different combinations, the college students still were avidly debating the logistics of their purchase. 

“Okay, I think we have it figured out,” the smallest one spoke. They slid a napkin from its position in the center of the table closer. It was littered with figures and numbers in blue ink, indecipherable to anyone not majoring in physics. “Right. We’re going to split the Big Bob’s Bellyache Breakfast, but instead of sausage, we want bacon. And instead of toast we want hash browns-”

The waitress cut them off, “So you want the Farmer Gone Murdering Feast?” She gestured to the large bat hanging on the wall directly next to their table. Underneath, the plaque read, “The Bat that Inspired Our FGMF Dish!”. Lance wondered if the dried blood coating it was real. 

“No, we don’t want six eggs, we only want three. And then we’re going to add on three blueberry waffles, a side of cheesy potatoes-“

“We don’t sell cheesy potatoes.”

Lance flopped against the sticky wood table. “Come ooonn, Delilah. You say that every tiiimmmee. We know you keep it in the back.” Delilah just rolled her eyes and scribbled the order down. 

“You can’t keep ordering off the menu guys,” the waitress lectured. Lance grinned, and leaned forward, lazily dropping his head on his hand. 

“But, if we do that, how am I going to request _you_ for take out?” he slurred out. Pidge groaned and Hunk slowly lowered himself into a puddle of disappointment. 

“Lance, I have spit in your food before, and I will do it again.”

“How ‘bout we just swap spit instead and call it even?” Lance gave her a crooked smile and an over-exaggerated wink. Delilah’s face remained tired and unimpressed, her lip curled up in repulsion. She glanced at the rest of the group. 

“Is that all?” Hunk shot up and shook his head vigorously. 

“And three chocolate shakes for dessert, please!” he said, giving her his best please-don’t-spit-in-my-shake smile. She raised an eyebrow and glared back at Lance. 

“Your shake is going to be the one with the red straw- remember that,” Delilah snarled before strutting away from the group. Lance’s cheery expression fell as he stared after the woman, his eyes flitting to the man in black following closely behind her.

 

Spotting reapers had become a common occurrence for Lance. Soon after his accident, he had somehow gained the ability to see them no matter what. They appeared normal enough, your everyday person usually wearing dark clothing. But their true identifying factor was how they seemed to drink up their surroundings. It was like a small shimmer around them, a black hole, swallowing the air and color of their environment. They looked like they were stuck in the wrong dimension, unable to fully comprehend the physicality of a living breathing creature. Instead, they were reduced to a rip-off 2D version of humanity. 

The reapers terrified Lance. They were beings of unknowable power and he was sure that if they just looked a little closer at him, they would realize the impossibility of his existence. For Lance emanated that same detectable shimmer of the reapers. He wasn’t sure if anyone else could notice it, but the first time he looked in the mirror after his accident, he could barely recognize the face staring back at him. Something was off, it seemed as if someone had made a perfect replica of Lance and just forgot to add one small detail, one last finishing touch that made Lance, Lance. That essence of human nature was gone. 

He felt no different. Granted he did drink a lot more water, and religiously put concealer over the large scar on his neck that refused to fade, but Lance was still Lance. He could still run circles around the track team and fire off asteroid and constellation coordinates from the top of his head, and he could still flirt like his life depended on it (which in the car accident case, it probably did). But every once and awhile, when Lance would lay in his bed and stare at the ceiling, he would detach from the outside world. It was as if he was still lying in the snow choking on his own blood.

But at 2am walking into Chicken Lickin’ Diner, Lance was his usual teasing self, enjoying the company of his closest friends after a night of hanging out. That was until he realized that the diner was polluted with grim reapers.

Every table was hosting one, all standing politely at the head each booth, not revealing their form just yet. They stared absently at the victims, their deadpan faces refusing to exhibit any glimmer of emotion. Lance knew something horrible was going to happen, and he was probably going to die if he didn’t tell someone. But even if he did, the reapers would realize the flaw in his design and probably kill him anyway. Lance was stuck.

 “Hey, Lance, are you okay?” Hunk said, gently nudging the distracted boy. Lance turned to look at his friends and gave them his best ‘everything’s oke-dokey’ face. It turned into a forced grimace and Lance just decided to give up.  
“Uh, yeah. My scar’s just been annoying me again,” Lance said sheepishly. It wasn’t a complete lie. From day one his scar had been unabashedly vexing him. It felt as if someone was drowning it in a thick layer of itchy wool, and all he could do to stop it was scratch at it like he had lice. Needless to say, it was a nuisance and just more of a reminder of how Lance wasn’t supposed to be alive. 

“Lance, you know what that means, don’t you?” Pidge whispered their tone suddenly serious. The group leaned in, waiting for the small genius’s wisdom. They looked around the diner, wary of the nearby customers. Finally, they leaned in close and uttered “…Voldemort’s nearby…”

Hunk gave out a snort and Lance flopped back to his plastic leather seat, pouting for his gullibility. Lance was about to stick his tongue out at them when a familiar sense of dread filled him.

Pidge’s proud smirk faltered as they noticed Lance staring in shock over their shoulder. They turned to look, but there was nothing there. “What are you staring at Lance?”

Lance shook himself out of his daze and gave them a reassuring smile. “Oh, uh, nothing! I just, I’m going to use the bathroom.” He pulled out his headphones and plugged them into his trusty iPod, blasting the most hellish volatile song he could think of to deter any mind readings from the surrounding reapers.

_Let’s bless the goddam rains down in Africa, mother fuckers._

Lance slid out of the sticky leather seat and moved slowly towards the restrooms near the entrance. What disaster was bubbling from underneath all the grimy wood and plastic cutlery? Was it a gas leak? No… the cook was constantly lighting the fire stove, the gas would need a much longer time to permeate throughout the diner. He knew that reapers usually came within 10 minutes of the disaster, so Lance didn’t have much time to debate the specifics. Maybe it was a-  oh _fuck-_

“NOBODY MOVE!”

The scraping on plates, the sounds of chairs butting against the tiled floors, the mummers of conversation ceased. The diner was heavy with silence, all staring at the masked man at the door, his hands clasping a large gun. He walked slowly past the stunned customers, aiming the gun to his front, eyes flitting around the room. Lance froze as the man’s eyes moved past him, the monitor on his wrist emanating a soft beep as Lance’s heart rate quickened. At the noise, the man swung his gun at Lance, glaring at the frightened boy. 

“You say something?” he growled. Lance had no idea what the man had said ( _god bless the FUCKING rains in FUCKING Africa, FUCK U TOTO_ ), but he shook his head anyway, his eyes still wide with fright. The man sneered and checked Lance’s shoulder as he moved past the college student. 

“S’what I thought,” he said. Lance watched the man continued down the small aisle way towards the cash register manned by Delilah. Her hand was shaking, posed right above the button to open the drawer. The man was nearing his friend's booth. Both Pidge and Hunk’s faces were set in determination. They were going to do something stupid. Fuck. Lance focused solely on them, and not the grim reaper hovering just behind the pair. 

However persuasive the arguments of the multiple grim reaper’s presences made, none were any match for Lance’s resolve to protect his friends from their stupidity.

A plan developed in his mind, forming clumsily and waddling on only three short legs, but it was a plan nevertheless. And, it was all Lance could do to save the many desperate people trapped within the 70s paneling of the diner. You might argue that fighting whatever stupid plan his friends made with another stupid plan would ensue just a whole lot of stupid- but, do you honestly believe you could stop Lance now?

“HEY FUCKER!” Lance yelled at the robber. The man swiveled around to face the boy, raising his gun to aim at Lance. Lance paid no mind to the many grim reapers closing in on him, like sharks following a fresh trail of blood. Lance gulped and held up his wrist. 

“You see this?!” Lance yelled, his voice cracking. He pointed to the heart rate monitor he was required to wear with a shaky finger. It looked like a fancy watch, the red light flashing uncontrollably. “It’s a mONITER SO I CAN REGULATE MY HEART RATE, BITCH,” Lance screamed. The man had barely a second to give Lance a confused look before Pidge took advatage of the situation and raised the Farmers Gone Murdering Bat above her head, slamming it onto the man’s skull. It made a dull crack that echoed off the diner’s walls. The man stumbled a bit, and everyone held their breaths. He righted himself up and turned to look at Pidge. She smashed it on his head once more and Hunk kicked him in the chest, sending him in the other direction. Lance rushed at the man and tackled him, trying desperately to grapple the gun away from the robber.

“Kick him in the balls!” Hunk yelled from his seat. Lance struggled for a bit more, his hand on the man’s face pushing it away before he raised his foot and made a sharp motion trying to incapacitate him. Unfortunately, it appeared the man didn't have any balls to kick in the first place. 

“He- nuh- doesn’t have any bal-” Lance struggled to speak, the man’s movements were sluggish from the head injuries, but his strength evident. Finally, Lance was able to rip the gun out of the man’s hands and kicked him in the shin. He stumbled back a bit, just in time to smash into Pidge’s trusty bat once more. Goliath fell in slow motion, plummeting towards the tiles, dust rising around him as the smoke of victory. 

The grim reapers signed in disappointment. Happiness bubbled in Lance’s chest as he watched the grim reapers pouting as they left the diner. Finally, he could think freely again. He pulled out his headphones just in time to hear the wild cheer erupt from the customers as the colored lights of red and blue filled the small space. 

 

* * *

 

“I’ll see you guys later!” Lance yelled after the car containing his friends. It honked back and drove into the blackness of the night. He started making his way down the cracked sidewalk, flipping through his key rings when he heard the distinct sound of someone running fast on the pavement. He turned around just in time to be tackled to the grass by the nighttime runner. The person straddled Lance and pressed Lance’s hands to the ground. The streetlamp barely illuminated the stranger’s face, but the features were indiscernible to Lance. The college student moved his head towards the person’s hands and bit hard. 

“Fuck!” the person hissed, shooting his hand away from Lance. Lance stopped struggling against the stranger’s grasp and gaped up at the face darkened by shadows. 

“Oh my god,” Lance breathed. “It’s you!” With one final shove, Lance pushed the grim reaper off of him and sat in the grass staring at the boy. He seemed completely the same, still wearing those black clothes, now only dawned in a wool scarf. Lance wished for better lighting so he could see the face once more, this time without the filter of excruciating pain. 

The grim reaper slowly moved up from his position on the ground and cradled his hand. Lance could feel the glower pierce through the darkness.

“Yeah, it’s me. Who else would it be?” the boy snapped. 

“Um, well I did just get fucking robbed at gunpoint, so, _sorry_ I assumed the guy tackling me wasn’t friendly,” Lance sneered, brushing through his hair to remove any bit of grass. “Why did you tackle me anyway? You could have just walked up and been all ‘Hey, sorry for disappearing for three months after saving you life- but I’m here now! By the way, my name is ‘blank’ and I know how to properly have a civil conversation with another person!’”

“My name isn’t Blank, it’s Keith,” the stranger grumbled, staring embarrassed at his wounded hand. The name thrilled Lance. Now he could finally stop calling him 'cute death kid' in his mind.  “And, I tackled you because you’re an idiot.”

Lance crossed his arms and huffed at the insult. “Mkay, what did I do now?” 

“YOU-” the reaper took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. In a more hushed tone, he continued, “You can’t keep saving every other person you know is going to die!” Lance rolled his eyes. 

“I’ve only done that two time-“

“Four times! You’ve done it four times, Lance! Reapers start to notice that kind of thing!” Keith fumed, his face red. “You saved fifty people today! You put yourself in danger!” Lance could feel his own face flush in anger. 

“I didn’t put myself in danger-”

“HE HAD A GUN! THAT’S THE DEFINITION OF DANGER!”

“Oh?! So what was I supposed to do? Watch my friends die?! You couldn’t even watch _me_ die and it’s your _job!”_ Lance argued back, trying to control the volume of his voice. A dog barked in the distance at the noise. 

“If you hadn’t interfered, you and your friends would have been safe!” Keith groaned, slapping his face in exasperation. “If you keep doing this, other reapers will realize what I did and they’ll _kill you,_ Lance _._ You just have to accept that people are going to die!”

“So why didn’t I die?!” Lance asked harshly. The reaper froze, staring wide-eyed at the boy in front of him. Keith gulped nervously and started to quickly get up. 

“I gotta go,” he mumbled, brushing the grass off his pants. Lance arched an eyebrow. 

“ _Keith_ ,” he said after the retreating boy. Keith briskly walked away, keeping his eyes forward and away from the Cuban boy whose questions he didn’t have an answer to. Lance ran up to meet him, grabbing at the reaper’s jacket. Keith swiveled around, glaring at Lance. His face was fully illuminated and Lance could finally see the boy he had been thinking about constantly for the past three months. Lance whispered a small ‘fuck’ as he realized that his pain encompassed mind hadn’t exaggerated the boy’s face at all. He was incredible. There was something completely different about him, something that separated him entirely from the other grim reapers. He seemed more whole. His cheeks were flushed and healthy, not pale and sallow like the others. Keith looked more human than Lance felt. Lance shifted his eyes down, unable to meet the reaper’s gaze. Keith broke the silence.

“Um, uh, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I have an assignment at two. It’s in the Rollo’s Mart. You should, uh, meet me there,” Keith stuttered, staring wide-eyed at Lance’s hold on his sleeve. Once Lance realized that he hadn’t let go yet, his hand quickly shot away and he nervously scratched the back of his neck. He looked up at the stars littering the night sky as his wrist monitor beeped softly.

“Um, yeah. I’ll do that, I guess, uh… bye,” Lance glanced back at the grim reaper, but Keith had already disappeared, leaving a still emptiness in the air. Lance let out the breath he had been holding and flipped off the area where Keith had stood.

“LESSON NÚMERO UNO, KEITHY BOY: IN A CIVIL CONVERSATION, YOU DON’T FUCKING VANISH BEFORE SAYING GOODBYE!” Lance screamed into the night. One of his neighbors yelled back an “I called the cops on you fuckers!!!” and Lance flipped the neighbor off with his other hand as he backed up to his house. 

He tripped on the porch step and fell on his ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment ur theories (and remarks of validation)please- always a means of motivation to make me finish faster lol
> 
> !!!ALSO!!!  
> LOOK AT THIS [ART SOMEONE DREW FOR THIS](https://letlancelive.tumblr.com/post/155818588327/drippingpen-geton-myboat-ahh-i-love-finding)
> 
> I LITERALLY LIVE FOR THAT SHIT  
> Reblog and show the artist some love!!!
> 
> Sooo if you've drawn anything u wanna share pls do!! I will cry I promise- even if it's stick figures- but make sure to tag my tumblr and leave a comment below so I actually see it (cuz tumblr sketch)
> 
>  
> 
> next chapter should be out in a couple days and it has waaaaay more klance 
> 
> thx for reading!!! <333
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](https://letlancelive.tumblr.com/)


	3. Kiss of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: shoving klance into a plastic bag  
> You: it's not going to fit  
> Me: Shut Your Fuck (continues to stuff klance into the bag, it is threatening to break)  
> You: please taylor  
> Me: hisses
> 
>  
> 
> I tried getting this chapter out last night- but then i failed and passed out around 6am ;(((((
> 
> Soooo here you go!  
> (cackles evilly)

Most cities don’t have the pleasure of homing a Rick Rollo’s Mart. Rollo’s Mart is a very peculiar place in the way it seems to grapple with one’s memory. It happens not long after the moment where you might feel very determined in your goal, a grocery list scrawled down in shaky handwriting, hand reassuring your wallet’s position. But, once you enter through those glass sliding doors, embracing the rushing scent of old dust and expired cleaner, you seem to fully forget your place in the world and your purpose. You wander through the disorganized isles, some still stocked with their original cardboard boxes with sharpie labeling them hastily. Nothing is familiar, the brand names are faked and the food is foreign. It becomes an exhilarating confusing ride, wallowing through the rivers of frozen foods, until you are quickly rushed out by the eternally exhausted employees and left standing slumped over and baffled in the streets, clutching desperately to your shopping bags and forgotten grocery list. Rick Roller’s Mart, it appears, does not remain glued to this dimension. 

But, despite its questioning reputation and missing person cases, Lance stood warily at precisely 1:30 in front of the dirt stained doors. He peered through the glass, hoping to spot the head of silky black hair amongst the deflated caps on the pimply employee’s heads. 

After a moment of searching, Lance sighed and walked through the doors to enter the mysterious Rollo’s Mart, nervously tugging at the bracelet on his wrist. 

Out of habit, Lance immediately plugged in his headphones and began blasting it on shuffle, letting his mind wander to thoughts about the people who didn’t entirely seem human. They were generally dressed well, the older they got, the more fashionable they appeared. Though he wasn’t sure how the job of a grim reaper was designated in the first place (was it through birth? was it through death?), Lance was sure Keith must be a fairly new reaper based on his appearance, age, and the haunting statement about how Lance had been Keith’s first. 

A small smirk appeared on Lance’s face as the thought made his mind wander towards less scholarly things. He wandered through the aisles, all too aware of his early arrival and the amount of time he had left to wait. The grimy store had a sort of hypnotizing effect on him, drawing him towards the items that he had never known Rollo’s Mart sold. Lance wandered down the aisle, his hand absentmindedly running along the rows of clothing, brushing gently on the cheap fabric. As he neared the winter supplies, Lance’s eyes fell on the rows of scarves, sparking an idea in his mind. 

“Lance, what are you doing up before 3?”

Lance swung around, looking around wildly for the source of the voice. The person made an ‘ahem’ noise and Lance tilted his vision down. He jumped back in horror and gave a small shriek at the gremlin staring back at him. A singular Pidge wearing a Rollo’s mart employee uniform raised an eyebrow at the startled boy. 

“”Oh! Um, I um. Haha, um, funny story, uhhh-” Lance stopped his rambling for a moment in confusion. “Wait, you don’t work here… what are you up to, Pidge?” The small person grinned evilly back. Lance noticed that their name tag read ‘Darrel’. 

“Oooh, just testing out some theories I have about this place,” they smirked at Lance’s confused expression. “You know, you should always come in here as a pair- never alone. I can walk around with you if you’d like.” they offered. Lance’s eyes grew wide as he quickly shook his head. 

“Um, no thanks! I’m meeting someone,” Lance stuttered out. He glanced at his phone, noting the time. It was 1:54. Pidge squinted their eyes at him, looking him over once more.  
“Is that why you’re dressed so nice?” They asked, staring at their reflection in Lance’s newly shined shoes. It was no surprise that Lance took pride in his appearance, but today it was obvious Lance had put in that extra bit of effort, opting to wear a navy blue v-neck and tan jeans. Pidge looked up to see Lance fully consumed in a blush. They grinned wickedly. “Oohhhhhmygod you’re on a date.”

“WHAT HAHAHA NOOOO I’M HAHHAA WHAT WOULD MAKE YOU THINK HAHAH NOOOOO,” Lance cried out, eyes wide and crazed as he gave Pidge his best Everything’s-Platonic smile. Unfortunately, Lance’s Everything’s-Platonic smile just made him look he was currently listening to an in-depth lecture about the ins and outs of his grandparents sex life but couldn’t complain because it was a degree required class.  He began to laugh anxiously at the accusation, still maintaining full eye contact with the uncomfortable Pidge. Pidge glanced around, ready to apologize to any unfortunate passerby for their friend’s behaviour. Luckily, all the customers had scattered at the sound of Lance high pitched shriek (Rollo’s was not a place to be caught unaware). Lance began to choke on his own spit. He punched himself in the chest, trying to control himself.

“Um, Lance,” Pidge slipped in between Lance’s wheezing. “Could you maybe chill for a second?” Lance gave one more hacked cough before he leaned against a nearby shelf. He smiled shakily at Pidge as a small dribble of spit collected on his lower lip. 

“Chill?” he wheezed out. “I (small cough) am the _definition_ of _chill._ ” Lance casually wiped off the spit on his lip to prove his point even further. Pidge simply raised an eyebrow. 

“Your makeup smudged,” Pidge said flatly. Lance screamed in horror at the gods above, searching desperately for the small mirror he had brought with him. Once he found it, he began to diligently examine every inch of his face, inspecting for any trace of imperfection. 

“You bastard,” Lance hissed, glaring down at the spawn of satan cackling before him. “ _My makeup is flawless.”_ He shoved the mirror into his pocket and crossed his arms, waiting for the gremlin to stop laughing. 

“Ahh, but seriously Lance, who’s your date?” Pidge sighed, wiping the tears from their eyes. Lance leaned down and examined Pidge’s stolen name tag.

“Who’s Darrel?” he sneered, flicking lightly at Pidge’s nose. They pushed Lance’s hand away and grumbled. 

“Someone who doesn’t have the misfortune of knowing you,” they said. Lance laughed mildly and quickly tugged Pidge in a headlock, ruffling the genius’s hair with each word. 

“Awww your JUST SO CUTE! Aren’t you??!!,” he said mockingly. Despite the person’s howls of protest, yelling ‘I’m not _cute_! I’m a _scientist_!’ Lance refused to remove his hold until his phone chirped. He dropped the pigeon and glanced at the screen. 

_2:00pm_

_Reminder:_

_Ride that D(eath), boi!!!_

Lance hurriedly hid the phone screen away from the obvious prying eyes and started backing up  out of the aisle. “I, uh, gotta go bud,” he said, turning around. “Smell ya later!” he called over his shoulder, already exiting the rows of clothing and embracing whatever strange things he would see in Rollo’s Mart. Lance scanned the nearby customers. Nope. No godlike boys anywhere around here. Lance ran to a different section of the store, eyes sweeping the area, passing over the herd of elders staring longingly at various types of prunes. In all the white, Lance saw no shock of black. It reminded him of Hollywood movies. 

Lance quickly moved to the front of the store, hoping to run past and glance into all of the aisles.  Aisle 1. 

A whole lot of hot sauce, but nothing as spicy as Keith’s bod.

Aisle 2. 

As wonderful as bread was, it did not make him want to denounce his religion like Keith did. 

Aisle 3. 

Oh, it was Agatha from the knitting club. But her masterful tight stitches didn’t have shit on Keith’s tight ass-

The aforementioned grim reaper moved out from behind the old woman, reaching up to pull something off the tallest shelf. Lance ignored his heart monitor’s small beep as he eagerly ogled the skin exposed from Keith’s riding up shirt. It was so smooth, and, oh god, he did have abs. Just as a small tear was forming in the corner of Lance’s eyes, his moment of bliss was interrupted suddenly by a screech of an old woman.

“Lance! Stop being a pervert and help him!” 

Agatha’s scathing voice immediately ripped Lance from his short livid fantasy and dumped him into a pile of steaming reality. Keith inhaled sharply as he turned to look at the blushing boy, realizing that Lance had seen him struggle to reach the top shelf. Lance walked over and easily grabbed the cat food, averting his eyes from the grim reaper’s stare. Lance placed the package into Agatha’ s cart and rubbed nervously at his scar.

Lance had met Agatha at his abuela’s weekly knitting club. Even after his abuela had passed away, Lance had continued to religiously go every wednesday, gossiping with the old women, and working on his stitching. Now, Lance was no idiot, he could easily figure out that the woman was going to die soon from old age, but seeing as Keith was her guardian, he figured he might have a chance at extending her life for a couple more years at least.

“H-hey Aggie,” Lance gave her his best award winning smile, but she was not fooled. She glanced between the two boys, noting how Keith was still staring mouth agape at Lance. Lance pointedly ignored Keith. “So, do, uh, you guys know each other?” Lance asked. Agatha started rolling her cart down the aisle towards the checkout center. 

“No, but this nice young man offered to help me with my groceries,” she glanced back at the following boys. They were awkwardly trailing behind her, strictly keeping a foot of distance between them. She strolled down to the front of the store and waited patiently at the counter as the employee rang up her items. 

“How do you boys know each other?” Agatha asked carefully, staring closely at the range of emotions flitting across their faces. Lance looked nervously at Keith, who, in turn, resorted to keeping his face neutral. Realizing he would get no help from Keith, a small smile began to form on his face. 

“Oh, you know Aggie,” he said grinning wickedly. “I guess you could say we met by _accident_.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Keith, waiting for the joke to sink in. Keith just stared confusingly back. When Agatha turned to pay the cashier, Lance leaned closer to Keith. 

“It’s funny, ‘cause we met by a car accident- and I was saying it’s an-”

“Lance!” Keith gasped. “You almost died! There’s nothing funny about that!” Lance rolled his eyes. 

“No, Keith- it’s a _pun._ Highest form of comedy-“

“Lance, no one was laughing back then,” Keith huffed and turned to follow Agatha out of the grocery store. 

“Eh, it’s okay. We’ll work on it.” Lance said, catching up to the speed devil that was Agatha (not before, of course, enjoying the view of Keith from behind). Once they exited the strange store, Agatha dropped off her cart and began to pull out her groceries from their wire prison. 

“Nope, no. Nope nope no nope-“ Lance quickly ran over to the woman’s side and gently took the groceries from her grasp. Once he couldn’t carry anymore, he motioned to Keith. Keith just starred horrified at the bags still in the shopping cart. He glanced nervously at Lance, shaking his head slightly. Lance motioned for him again, widening his eyes in a don’t-be-rude form of communication. Keith walked over and began to pull the bags from the cart. Once everything had been taken out, Agatha left the boys briefly to drop off the cart. 

“Dude, what’s your deal,” Lance asked. Keith’s face turned red.  
“I can’t- Lance, I’m- grim reapers shouldn’t be able to hold anything heavier than a pad of paper in the mortal world. If anyone saw me…“ he looked worriedly at Lance. Lance glanced around, looking for the human version of a black hole. Rollo’s Mart parking lot seemed safe enough (relatively speaking). Lance readjusted his grip on the shopping bags, freeing one of his arms. 

“Mkay, pile them on me,” he said quickly, glancing to make sure that Agatha was still struggling to push the cart back into its proper place. Keith breathed a ‘thank you’ as he secured the bags on Lance’s arms. Lance’s monitor beeped once more as Keith’s hands were busy readjusting the bags on Lance’s arms, brushing slightly at his tanned skin. He really needed to put that thing on silent. Once Lance had practically turned into a leaning tower of cat food, Keith relented and kept the last small bag for himself. 

“You’re gonna have to be my eyes, Keithy boy,” Lance said, his voice muffled by the bags of groceries blocking his face. “Aggie’s house is just right around the corner.”

Keith muttered a small ‘right’ as Agatha began shuffling towards the boys. She gave Keith an odd look at his empty hands and Lance’s overflowing mounds of groceries but didn’t mention anything. 

“Alright then, let’s go,” she hobbled forward and moved down the parking lot towards the crosswalk. Keith followed after her for a moment, forgetting entirely of his duties. In an instant, he stood rigid and ran back to the blind Lance. After hesitating for a moment, Keith gently grasped Lance’s arm and nudged him on the small of his back. Lance followed the motion, his monitor buzzing violently as Keith’s touch seared into his skin. For a grim reaper, his hands were much warmer than what Lance was expecting. Unconsciously, Lance leaned closer to Keith, his shoulder brushing against Keith’s chest. 

“You’re leaning to the right,” Keith muttered from behind the groceries. Lance tried to look at the boy’s face, but the obstructions were too tall. Instead, he just continued blindly down Keith’s path, maybe walking a little slower than necessary so he could lean into Keith’s touch. Keith pressed gently at Lance’s back, urging him forward. 

“The old woman on the verge of death is beating you,” he smirked. Lance smiled at this and playfully bumped into Keith’s chest, eliciting a small push back. Lance bit his lip excitedly and leaned back against Keith for a short second, not totally dissolving against him, but lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of the grim reaper’s embrace. 

Even though Keith couldn’t see Lance’s face, he could guess the expression based off of the boy’s monitor beeping suddenly after Lance’s nudge. Keith smiled and gave Lance’s arm a small pinch before moving Lance to cross the street. Agatha glanced back at the boys, suspiciously raising an eyebrow at their closeness. If it hadn't been for the groceries fully blocking them, she wasn’t sure how far the ‘platonic’ embrace would’ve been pushed. 

“Can everyone see you?” Lance asked quietly, leaning closer to Keith (in hopes that Keith would be able to hear him better, of course, no other reason implied).

“Hmmmyeah. You can turn it on and off,” Keith murmured back. “Watch your step, there’s a curb.” Lance paused and raised his foot higher than he needed to in anticipation. It crashed down on the edge of the cement lurching him forward. Just as he was about to topple over, cat food spilling everywhere, Keith tightened his grip on Lance’s arm and snaked his hand around to clutch onto Lance’s waist. 

“Are you okay,” Keith asked, his arm still holding Lance’s side. Lance regained his balance, muttering a small ‘yeah’, before standing up completely. Keith’s hand remained holding Lance’s waist as they walked onto to Agatha’s sidewalk. Even though the fabric separated them both, Lance could still feel Keith’s hand burning a mark into his side. The touch was light and delicate, careful not to push any boundaries, but it felt like a furnace against Lance. 

Agatha was struggling to push the key into the door. Keith released Lance for a moment to help the woman, opening the door to let her in. Agatha walked passed the threshold yelling back, “I have some cookies for you boys in the kitchen!”

“Just take a couple steps more,” Keith directed, holding the door open. Lance wobbled forward and took small steps as his was told. “Mkay, there’s a step there. Be careful,” Keith said, his eyes glued to Lance’s feet. Lance teetered for a moment, the pile of groceries threatening to collapse on him, before finding his balance and walking slowly into the house. As soon as the door was closed, Keith began to quickly pull off the bags from Lance until he was completely free of his plastic prison. 

“Can you both bring the bags into the kitchen, please?” Agatha called from the other room. Lance yelled back a ‘Sure thing!’ and started enveloping himself in the bags once more. Now that they were in a private setting, Keith began to do the same. They walked through the long hallway to the kitchen, padding softly on the lavender carpet. Lance sniffed the air. Cat and old lady smell. 

After putting away the groceries, Agatha walked into the kitchen and offered them both a tin of cookies. Lance smiled at the old woman and politely declined. Keith, however, nodded quickly and muttered many thanks when Agatha ended up relinquishing the entire container to him. Lance watched in shock as the boy inhaled cookie after cookie. It suddenly became clear to Lance that grim reapers did not need oxygen to survive because Keith took no time to breathe between bites. Keith glanced up at Lance, a cookie guiltily hanging from his mouth. He took a small bite and proceeded to shuffle out of the room to sit on one of the couches, away from Lance’s judgment. 

When Lance entered the living room, he found Agatha sitting lazily on her chair staring at the television as her cat curled on her lap. Keith was sitting on the couch nearby, hunched over and devouring the cookies. Agatha glanced back and forth between him and Keith before giving Lance a wink and removing her hearing aid. Lance rolled his eyes, muttering a ‘dirty old woman’. Lance cautiously moved to sit next to the grim reaper, still watching in astonishment at the speed in which the cookies were disappearing. 

“If you were hungry, you should have just said something,” Lance said, still unable to rip his eyes away from the action. Keith glared at him. “We were at a _grocery_ store, with _food.”_

“Don’t have any money,” Keith managed to say between bites. Lance leaned back into the floral couch cushion, ignoring the old lady smell that erupted from the fluffy material. 

“I would have paid. You _did_ save my life…” Lance murmured. Keith stopped his eating and stared at Lance for a moment as if he was trying to understand the riddle that was Lance’s mind. Lance shot up in his seat and began to desperately sing the Danny Phantom Theme song over and over in his head. Keith smiled briefly and leaned back into the couch next to Lance. 

“So, that’s how you’ve been doing it,” Keith mumbled, smiling to himself. He took a small bite into a cookie, contemplating. 

“Keith?” Lance turned to look at the boy. He was well aware of how easy it would be to bridge the gap between them. Keith looked up at him waiting. “I- I don’t mean to be rude, but, um, I don’t really like it when people read-“ Keith sat rigid and blushed furiously. 

“Oh I’m sorry, I mean- shit I did it again. Fuck um, that’s the last time. I promise- I’m sorry, I just, it’s just something we’ve always done and I’ve never been in this sort of-“

Lance smiled softly and gently nudged the nervous boy with his shoulder. Keith’s rambling trailed off as he stared at the spot Lance had touched. “Hey, it’s okay,” Lance said quietly. “You didn’t know, it’s fine. Really,” Keith nodded dumbly and shrunk back into the couch, his face still red with embarrassment. Lance fell back next to him, noting how their shoulders brushed when he shifted. 

Lance desperately wanted to pester Keith with a thousand questions, ask him time and time again as to why he was still alive and what the hell was going on. Something had happened to Keith, Lance had made out that much. But Lance was afraid that if he said anything, Keith would leave him again… alone. Lance didn’t want to be alone. Instead of asking the thousand of questions he had scarred into his mind, Lance opted for something a little less serious. 

The television rumbled in the background. 

“So,” Lance said, turning to Keith. The boy was mindlessly nibbling on the side of the cookie, mesmerized by the television screen. Lance almost didn’t want to interrupt him, he was staring wide-eyed, hypnotized by the colors flashing before. “Keith,” Lance pinched Keith’s hand, trying to rip him from his daze. Keith moaned in annoyance and turned towards Lance.

“How’d you manage to snatch Aggie? She’s been avoiding you guys for years like a pro.” 

Keith scooted away from Lance, smirking as he placed the tin of cookies on the nearby coffee table. “I chose a more direct approach. Usually, the situation takes care of itself, but I have to admit she’s pretty good at escaping death.” Lance grinned. 

“Hell yeah, she is. She’s been doing this for,” Lance turned towards the old woman and raised his voice. “How old are you Aggie?”

“Two thousand and forty-three,”

“She’s been kicking your ass for two thousand and forty-three years,” Lance taunted. Keith rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah? Well, that’s not gonna help her now, she’s stuck in her house with a grim reaper. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you can’t do shit this time, Lance. See, this is why I brought you here, so you could finally get it through your thick skull th-that y-you can’t… you can’t…“ Keith’s voice trailed off.

During Keith’s proud speech, Lance had taken the opportunity to lean close to the boy, pressing their knees together. He had somehow snaked his arm around the head rest and slowly bridging the gap between them. Lance neared his face to Keith, reveling in how he could count every eyelash if he wanted. Keith could feel Lance’s hot breath on his cheek. He turned to look at him, regretting the decision instantly as their noses brushed. 

“What are you doing?” he breathed. Lance’s eyes trailed down the boy’s face, resting on the soft pink lips. 

“Distracting you,” Lance muttered. His arm slid off the head rest and landed gently on Keith’s shoulder. Lance moved his hand and lifted it to Keith’s face. He hesitated for a moment, uncertain. But before he could rest his hand on Keith’s cheek, Keith moved into the touch and smiled softly at the contact. Lance licked his lips excitedly and bumped their noses together once more, grinning stupidly. 

“Aggie, run… there’s a grim reaper in your house…” Lance mumbled half-heartedly. He did care for Aggie, it was just, Keith made him loose his sense. He could barely think. The only thought able to form in his mind was that of locking his lips against the grim reaper's. Tugging him close, holding him right next to his slow beating heart. 

Keith’s breath hitched as Lance leaned centimeters closer, their lips just about to touch. Lance tilted his head a bit. 

“Lance, you can’t-,” Keith barely whispered, still staring at Lance’s lips. “Lance, no. Please- please stop.” Keith words slurred out of him, like a drunk man unable to fully articulate himself. Lance paused, looking back into Keith’s eyes. Keith looked… scared. Lance pulled back instantly and dropped his hands on his lap. He stared at the television screen in front of him, the monitor beeping to his side. It beeped once more. He glared down and it and angrily pressed the button on the bracelet, muttering out expletives as it continued to beep. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispered, facing forwards, sensitive to Lance’s emotions. Lance continued to mess with his watch, glaring at the stupid thing. Finally giving up, he ripped it off and threw it on the other side of the floral patterned couch. Keith immediately stood up and walked over to pick up the bracelet. He kneeled before Lance and hesitated for a moment. Lance didn’t move away. Keith gently grasped the boy’s arm and began to secure the monitor around his wrist. Lance was silent as Keith clipped on the lock.  
“Please keep this on,” Keith said, looking up at Lance. Lance averted his eyes immediately, opting to look at the ceiling instead. Keith stood up, and instead of sitting back down in his original position, he walked over to Agatha. 

“I think we should go soon,” he said quietly. He nudged her gently. “It’ll be fine, I promise. We can even bring your cat, too.” Agatha gave her kitten a small pet and looked up at him.

“I knew you were too pretty to be friends with Lance,” she laughed. Lance didn’t react, he just kept staring at the ceiling. “Well, I suppose it’s time anyhow.” She muttered softly, her voice trailing away. Her head lolled to the side and Keith gingerly grasped her hand. He tugged gently and soon a blue apparition escaped the body. Lance couldn’t help but gawk at Agatha, she looked much younger, much happier. Smiling joyously at her new form. Keith grinned with her, pulling her towards the door. 

“Wait!” she said. “My cat Leo! You said we could bring him with- are you going to…” Keith shook his head. 

“He’s going to die naturally in a couple days anyway. If you’d like, it would be completely painless; he won’t feel anything.” Keith said, still grasping her hand. She nodded. Keith moved to the body where the cat still curled up. It was purring. He leaned down, not before glancing at Lance to make sure he was watching. Lance was completely transfixed. 

“It’s um… nevermind,” Keith paused, not really talking to anyone. Keith leaned down and planted a small kiss on the cat’s head. After a couple of seconds of silence, Keith tugged gently at the paw and soon a small blue apparition followed. It mewed earnestly and jumped away before Keith could get a good hold on it. It trotted over towards Agatha and jumped into her open arms. 

Lance couldn’t move. He kept staring at the cat, completely hypnotized as a thousand thoughts raced through.

Fuck fuck shit hell, sheets of paper, god flip flapping dammit, fuck you zeus, fuck u Poseidon, fuck all the other ones, fuck jesus FUCK- Kiss of Death. Of fucking course, grim reapers had the Kiss of Death. If he kissed Keith, he would die. Of fucking FUCK. WHAT WAS HE SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THE REST OF HIS WEEKEND NOW!?!?!?

 

Would adding tongue dissipate the effects- or would he just end up super super dead? FUCK.

 

Keith watched as Lance’s face flit through the emotions: shock, horror, annoyance, anger, annoyance, some more annoyance. Lance’s face turned red as his monitor beeped wildly, he slapped his wrist and covered the damn thing to muffle the noise. 

Keith turned to Agatha and held out his hand. “You ready?” She nodded and grasped his hand, still cuddling with her cat. They started moving towards the door. Just as they were about to exit, Agatha paused and turned towards Lance.

“Lance, dear,” she said. Lance turned around on the floral patterned couch and looked back at the apparition. “Would you mind dialing the police so the corpses don’t rot in the house for days? Thank you!” Lance nodded and watched as they opened the red door and passed on the threshold. Once the lock clicked shut, he leaped of the couch and ran to the window to catch one last glimpse of Keith. However, there was no one outside. They had vanished. 

Lance stared at the cracked pavement in front the dead woman’s house, his mind a jumble of emotions. Lance was so preoccupied with his thoughts, that he didn’t notice the man in black staring directly at him from across the street. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit is about to go down boooiiiii
> 
> comments are always the best means of motivation and bribery (wink wink, nudge nudge)  
> ;)))))
> 
> now i am going to die and drink apple juice out of a shot glass
> 
> next chapter should be out in a couple days!! (also who else is PUMPED for season 2) (klance or we riot)
> 
> [my tumblr](https://letlancelive.tumblr.com/)


	4. Death at the Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol sorry for the delay- but classes started up again sooooo yeahhh
> 
> btw- enjoy the spicy part (question is, did i write it for you as an apology for KoD- or am i just insanely impatient???)
> 
>  
> 
> just warning you- it's like practically impossible for me to update more than once a week cuz school
> 
> IMPORTANT- descriptions of death in this one- so be prepared- lil horror like js

In hindsight, attempting to make out with the guy he knew nothing about in a dying lady’s living room was probably not one of Lance’s greatest ideas. Granted, Lance felt it was excusable on the grounds that it was ‘solely’ for achieving the end goal of saving his dear knitting friend, Agatha, from the clutches of the incredibly attractive grim reaper. Unfortunately, Lance was unable to fulfill either intent. Rather, in the end, Lance was left in the lavender carpeted room alone and unkissed. 

Once the initial intoxication of Keith had worn off, Lance’s mind began to clear, bustling with thoughts, all focusing on one subject in particular. What did Keith mean to Lance? Sure, Keith had saved his life- and he seemed to care what Lance did with it. Was Lance’s attraction solely based on Keith’s looks- or was it some subconscious desire stemming from Keith being his ‘knight in shining armor’? However confusing it all was, however much Lance wanted to press their bodies close and tangle his fingers in Keith’s dark hair and kiss the grim reaper till he couldn’t breathe, one thing was becoming increasingly clear:

Lance didn’t know a single thing about Keith.

And how could you like someone you didn’t even know? Keith had divulged nothing to Lance, the college student still had no clue as to what had happened to him the night of his death, or even what had happened to Keith. Lance was left in the dark, no way of communicating with the reaper, no means of developing any sort of companionship. It was becoming apparent to Lance that Keith wanted nothing to do with him. Lance was just a result of an impulsive mistake Keith had made, a splinter in his side. Lance was an idiot for even thinking Keith had saved him for a reason other than pure recklessness. 

Could reaper’s even feel emotions like attraction? Or was Lance something to laugh at? God, Lance was sure Keith was making fun of him now, probably joking about the dumb kid that tried to kiss a grim reaper. 

And that’s when Lance made the executive decision that he would NOT fall for Keith. He wouldn’t be into Keith at the slightest. No more staring, no more flirting, no more desperately grappling at any bit of touch, no more-

Fuck. 

Lance glanced down at the red scarf he was knitting. He was sitting on his bed, listening to the rich voice of Jim Dale reading Harry Potter from his headphones, the room dimly lit by his bedside lamp. It was late into the night, Lance hadn’t realized how much time had passed. 

Almost immediately after settling things at Agatha’s house, Lance had raced to his favorite fabric store, eyes glancing excitedly over the walls of yarn. He hadn’t been entirely sure what color he was going to choose, but Lance knew that he was going to knit Keith the softest scarf ever, to replace the shitty wool one he insisted on wrapping around his neck. As Lance’s fingers danced off the displays, gracing each ball of yarn with a small touch, he quickly caught sight of brilliant red string. He reached up and grabbed it, cradling the soft fabric in hands. It was perfect.

And now Lance sat quietly on his bed, running over and over the actions of the day, attempting to make a small bit of sense in all the fucked up madness. He had almost completed the scarf; it laid in his hands draped across the bed, like a trail of blood leading up to the tired student. He lowered the knitting needles, mindlessly rubbing at the metal. Lance supposed knitting a scarf would go under the list of things he should definitely not do- that is if he was going to get over his attraction for the grim reaper. Lance sadly began wrapping up the yarn and getting ready for bed. 

 

The doorbell chimed. 

 

Lance perked up at the noise, glancing over at his phone. It was 11:34 PM. Who would ring the doorbell so fucking late? Pidge and Hunk wouldn’t be dumb enough to disturb his family now. Lance could hear someone grumpily stomping down the stairs to answer the persistent doorbell. Lance cautiously opened his bedroom, peering down at the entryway. His mamá stood in front of the door, looking at the figure before her. Almost as if he was induced with a sudden case of tunnel vision, everything surrounding Lance blurred away. All he could see were Keith’s shining dark eyes glancing up back at him. His mamá called something at him, but he could barely respond. Things were moving in slow motion as if he was drowning in molasses. Keith began walking up the stairs to Lance’s room. Lance could do nothing but watch dumbly as the grim reaper invaded his home. He slinked back into his room, opening the door for Keith. 

Before Lance could question anything, Keith quickly slammed the door behind him and pushed Lance roughly against the wall. Lance made a noise of annoyance but quickly stopped once Keith moved forwards and closed the distance between them. Lance watched silently as Keith placed his hands Lance’s sides, tracing every curve and edge of his body. Keith’s fingers burned like hot metal against Lance’s skin, dancing lightly across the fabric. 

“Keith,” Lance breathed. “What are you…“ Keith glared at Lance, his grip tightening on his body.Keith neared his face towards Lance, letting the breaths intermingle. Lance could feel his heart burn in his chest. Before Lance could make a move of self preservation, Keith quickly silenced the boy by crushing their lips together. 

Lance froze. He could feel Keith digging his nails into Lance’s skin in a desperate fervor. Lance tried pushing back, but Keith pressed into him even more, moving his lips against Lance’s unresponsive ones. As the seconds rolled on of Keith pulling into Lance, humming at the heat building between them, Lance finally caught on. 

He wasn’t dying. He wouldn’t die. Fuck- he could kiss Keith. 

Thoughts of abandoning his feelings were quickly shushed and locked away. All Lance could think about was vanishing the space between them till nothing separated their bodies.

Time sped in a rush. The realization built a sudden rise a bubbling fire in him, the previous fear replaced with want. Lance quickly slipped his hands around Keith, drawing them up to tangle in grim reaper’s hair. Keith gave a small noise in the back of his throat, pressing closer to Lance,moving his lips roughly against Lance’s. Their movements entirely dictated by an increasing wet heat between their mouths, desperate for the touch of the other. Suddenly, he felt like he was running out of time, each moment, each second was too quickly swept away. There wasn’t enough time. Fuck. He needed more time- god _fuck_ he needed Keith. 

Lance parted his lips, allowing Keith’s tongue to meet his. A small moan escaped from Lance as Keith licked at the roof of his mouth, shifting to move against Lance’s pelvis. Lance lowered his hands to grip Keith’s lower back, pulling him flush against him. Keith took the hint and rocked forward against Lance and nipped at his parted lips, matching the rhythm of his kisses with his thrusts. The heat in the room boiled, Lance could feel his heart beating faster, creating a small bursting pain in his chest. But nothing would stop him now, not with Keith so close and so willing, pressed near, sloppily crushing kisses against his lips. Keith moved his hands down and slipped them underneath Lance’s shirt, trailing his nails down the dark skin. Lance arched his back, breathing heavily, unable to contain the small noises of pleasure escaping his mouth. Keith grinned into the kiss and bit Lance’s lip hard, drawing a small drop of blood. Lance’s paused his movements, tugging gently away from Keith. 

“What’re you- _ah!_ ” Lance stopped speaking immediately as Keith trailed his mouth to Lance’s neck, sucking at the untouched skin. Lance continued to press against Keith’s pelvis, reveling in the heated friction and small moans it elicited. He ignored the metallic taste and his throbbing lip, opting to focus on the hot tension building in his pelvis. Keith moved his head down to Lance’s scar, licking lightly at the sensitive skin. Keith clawed into Lance’s back and pressed forwards into the boy, sucking at the scar tissue. Lance gave out a small gasp as the healed cut tingled underneath Keith’s wandering tongue. Without warning, Keith’s grip clamped onto Lance and he bit down onto Lance’s neck. 

“Keith,” Lance’s voice wavered, struggling between pleasure and pain. But, as soon as he could feel small droplets of blood sting down his neck, Lance tried pulling back away from the grim reaper. His heart burned and expanded in his chest; he couldn’t breathe. Keith continued to bite at the tender skin, making small tears at the flesh. It burned. Lance was choking. Keith’s bites were like shards of glass- ripping at his flesh once more. Keith paused and moved up to look directly into Lance’s eyes, watching the boy as Lance sputtered out strangled breaths. Lance tried crying out in pain, but the cut on his neck choked out the words. 

Keith smiled, his teeth rimmed with Lance’s blood. Keith moved slowly towards the dying boy, fluttering his eyes closed, their faces just inches away. Their breathe’s intermingled, one coming out in short constrained bursts, the other just a ghost of humanity. Lance tried to shove off the grim reaper’s claws, but he couldn’t move. He was frozen and cold, a familiar warm heat pooling into the back of his throat. 

_What are you doing?_ Lance thought desperately, tears prickling at the edges of his eyes. Keith didn’t stop advancing, instead, he pressed one final soft kiss onto Lance’s lips. 

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” Keith murmured, staring into Lance’s fading gaze. Lance’s cut was burning, almost as if it was reopening on itself, a sharp contrast to the freezingair around him. Lance was dying.

His monitor beeped. 

His monitor beeped. 

 

The doorbell chimed. 

 

Lance shot up from his mattress, drenched in sweat. He could feel the tears dried on his cheeks. He inhaled slowly to calm himself, counting down from eight, attempting to silence his heart monitor. After a couple of moments of deep breathing, Lance gently touched his stinging scar. He pulled back and looked at the droplet of blood resting on his finger. How did he-?

He glanced over at the knitting needles resting at the bedside table; it wouldn’t be the first time Lance had fallen asleep with them in his hand (creating a dangerous situation in itself)- but that didn’t seem the case tonight. They were safely resting a foot away. He tentatively touched the cut again, running his finger along the raised skin. It seemed too clean for him to have cut it with his nails- it was too precise and surgical. 

 

The doorbell chimed. 

 

Lance looked over and turned on his phone, ignoring the notifications. It was 12:04. A small seed of fear sprouted in Lance’s chest as he remembered the dream’s start. But Keith wouldn’t- it was just a dream. Lance walked quietly out of his room and moved down the steps, wincing as another bell hammered through the entryway. Lance moved towards the door and looked out the peephole to spy on the person who had the audacity to be that much of an asshole.

Staring directly back at Lance was a man clad entirely in black. Lance squinted at him, racking his brain for information. Where had he seen him before? Why did he recognize him? The man shifted impatiently and moved his hand to press the doorbell once more. In a panicked haste to silence the annoying ring, Lance quickly began unlocking the door. 

The man paused in his action and looked up at the as the door opened. As soon as Lance was standing before the man face to face, he couldn’t move. He felt frozen, as if his breath had left his lungs empty and collapsed. 

The man grinned, the aura of death flowing off of him in waves. He was a reaper and he was standing right outside Lance’s house- probably itching to finish Keith’s original job. In a sudden burst of survival instincts, Lance immediately slammed the door shut on the reaper’s face, breathing out a sigh of relief as he was left alone in his silent house. He slipped on the chain lock and made sure to wiggle the doorknobs to ensure his safety. However, a dark and horrible thought slinked into his mind. 

_Can reapers walk through walls?_

After a moment of building up his courage, Lance cautiously glanced into the peephole once more. 

An empty porch.

Lance wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse. 

Actually- no- he was positive that made him feel 100% worse FUCK. 

Lance scampered up the stairs and quickly leapt through the open door to his room. He slammed the door behind him and breathed heavily in fear as he pressed his back against the door, searching blindly for the handle. After a few moments of grappling around, he found the lock and gave it a sharp turn, securing his safety. As he breathed out a sigh of relief, Lance started walking towards his bed. 

Something shifted in the corner of his eye. Lance swirled around, staring directly into the eyes of the man in black. 

Considering the life and death situation (literally), we should cut Lance a break on the high pitched inhuman screech he emitted- it was completely reasonable given the circumstance. Don’t laugh, he’s self conscious.

Lance ran to the far edge of the room, as far as he could get from the reaper. He moved to grab at the door handle, frustrated when it refused to yield. The man closed in on Lance, watching as Lance struggled to open the door. Why wasn’t it opening- fuck! Why wasn’t it- _oh…_ Lance turned the small nob to unlock it. Just as he was about to swing open the door and run for his fucking life, a hand dropped on his shoulder. Lance froze, unable to prevent the man from turning him around. When Lance finally faced him, his eyes wide in fright, the man raised an eyebrow at the college student. 

“There’s no point in running,” the man said. In most cases when the guy chasing you implores you to stop running- it’s always a good idea to ignore that advice and KEEP FUCKING RUNNING. 

However, seeing as Lance doesn’t have my steady narration as his conscience, he was at a loss. His hand dropped from the door handle and fell limply at his side. The man removed his grip from Lance’s shoulder and stared warily at the frightened boy, crossing his arms in front of him. 

After a few moments of tense silence, the man held out his hand awkwardly. “I should- uh, introduce myself. I’m Shiro.”

Lance looked cautiously at the gesture, unsure of how to proceed. Lance gulped and slowly grasped the man’s hand in his own. He didn’t fail to miss the look of astonishment that flickered on the reaper’s face.

“Name’s Lance,” Lance mumbled, readying himself to bolt at any given moment. Shiro was still staring at their enclasped hands, squinting confusedly. “What- what is it?” Lance asked, quickly snatching his hand away. Shiro shook his head. 

“Nothing- it, it just always amazes when I can actually interact,” he gave out a small huff of laughter. “I don’t think I’ve been able to shake a human hand since I was alive-“

“Wait,” Lance interrupted him. “Reapers used to be alive?” Shiro nodded, his eyes darkening for a moment. He avoided going into further detail. 

“That’s not really why I’m here, Lance,” Shiro said. Lance glared back, his emotions flickering between annoyance, fear, and confusion. 

“Are you here to kill me?” Lance asked softly, subconsciously backing away. Shiro earnestly shook his head and held up his hands in defense. 

“Oh, god no. I’m just here for Keith-“  
Lance perked up immediately at the name, relaxing a bit. If Shiro was a friend of Keith’s then he could probably trust him. Friends. Keith and Shiro were friends. Unless they were- wait were they-

Shiro laughed, “Noooo, Lance- reapers aren’t generally interested in that sort of thing. Kinda dies outta you when you die…” Shiro’s voice trailed off briefly. Lance mentally kicked himself. Of _course_ mind reading bullshit again. Fuck. Lance could feel his face heat with embarrassment. _Better not think of anything weird- definitely don’t think about that dream you just had of Keith._ As soon as the thought entered Lance’s mind, unwanted images bombarded him, ghosts of Keith’s lips against his, Keith pulling off Lance’s shirt, running his tongue against his dark skin, Lance moaning at the wet touch- fUCK

Lance’s face burned. He glanced up at Shiro. The reaper wasn’t doing any better. His eyes were wide with shock and his face had turned a deep crimson. Shiro coughed into his hand awkwardly and avoided eye contact.   
“Anyways…” Shiro managed to choke out. Lance grinned uncomfortably and ignored the pestering images of half naked Keith nagging the edges of his mind.

_IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND/ I’M THE FIRST IN LINE,_ Lance thought-sang desperately. _HONEY I’M STILL FREE/ TAKE A CHANCE ON ME/_

Shiro smiled at Lance’s attempts to block him out and gave a small huff of laughter. The tension visibly lessoned in the room. Lance nervously scratched at the back of his neck, ignoring the still burning sensation emanating from his new cut. 

Shiro cleared his voice, “I came here to warn you.” Lance paused his nervous twitch and looked up at the reaper. All sense of joking was gone, Shiro’s eyes were dark. “It may not seem like it right now- but Keith put you in serious danger.” Shiro sighed.

“I’m surprised to managed to stay under the radar this long,” the reaper said, his eyes hinting at sympathy. “But, Lance… what Keith did was wrong _._ And, many people- many _things_ will stop at nothing to- kill you both…”

The air shifted in the room. Lance stared wide eyed at the man- remembering how quickly Shiro had been able to find and trap Lance. If Keith’s friend was able to do it so easily, there was no question as to how quick Keith’s enemies would be.

“I honestly should just kill you myself and end it all,” Shiro said flatly. Lance stopped breathing. Fuck, he was the idiot who invited a grim reaper into his home and now he was going to die.Lance backed up against the wall, eyes flashing in fear at the reaper. Shiro paused, contemplating his next words carefully. “But, that would kill one of my closest friends as well… so that’s not an option in this case, ” he said softly. Lance stopped walking backwards. If he died- Keith would die-? Did that mean-

“I d-didn’t think reapers could die… again-“ Lance managed to waver out, still very much aware of Shiro’s previous suggestion. 

“They can’t,” Shiro said, glancing up at Lance. “Lance, I’ll try to help you both as much as I can. Keith is like a brother to me, and I would like him to _not_ die twice in this century.” Shiro looked him dead in the eye. 

“I’m going to need you to do something for me,” he said. Lance nodded weakly. “If you want to have any chance at surviving the next month- you’re going to need to stop saving people. It’s drawing too much attention to you.” Lance nodded again, but Shiro was far from finished.

“Make always you have something to defend yourself with- never get caught unprepared. Don’t talk to strangers, don’t look at strangers- don’t even think about strangers.” Shiro lectured on, telling Lance to be wary of his surroundings and to always keep some holy water and a crucifix with him at all times. Never trust people in all black. Don’t go into Rollo’s Mart. Ever. Stop eating red meat. (side eye) Don’t kiss Keith. Or anything else in that category…

He ended his long speech with, “Just keep in constant contact with Keith. If something seems off- or wrong- or just plain weird- always tell him-“

“-I don’t know _how_ to contact him- I don’t even have his number! Do you guys even have cell phones?!” Lance groaned, rolling his eyes at the inconvenience he had been thinking constantly about. Shiro quirked his head at Lance. 

“What do you mean-? You both have-“ Shiro paused, his eyes darting down to Lance’s neck. “…You’re bleeding.” Lance slapped hishand up to his neck, trying to cover up the mark. 

“I-it’s nothing. Just scratched myself in my sleep,” Lance tried saying, but he could feel the fresh blood trailing down his collar. Somehow the wound had reopened. 

“In your sleep-?” Shiro muttered to himself, glancing briefly up back at the cut. “Are you sure?” Lance shrugged bashfully. 

“What’s your heart rate?” Shiro questioned. Lance looked at his monitor reading the surprisingly high 32 from the screen. Well, that should have been expected- he did just practically die and make out with Keith in his dream and Shiro was pretty fucking scary. It was completely understandable for Lance to not have a complete grip on his heart rate. Shiro moved past Lance.

“I have to leave,” Shiro said, distracted in his thoughts. Lance watched dumbly as the man opened the door. The man with all the answers was about to leave. The man that could help Lance and tell him everything was leaving and he had no way of contacting him. He had to figure out something fast. An idea bubbled in Lance’s mind and before he could stop himself- he was blurting out the question.

“Wait!” Lance yelped. “Before you go- how- Shiro, how do you become a grim reaper?” The man paused, not looking up from the doorknob. He gave a small sigh and turned to face Lance. 

Lance stared anxiously back- maybe- somehow- he could live some half life and still keep Keith alive… maybe-

“It’s the same as the job description.” Shiro said, his eyes darkening. “You have to kill someone.”

And with that the grim reaper closed the door behind him, leaving Lance alone once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo who did keith killlllllllllllllll hmmmmm >;)  
> comment below and throw me some theories and praises (or just destroy me and call me a shithead- either is fine)
> 
> also- i'm psyched cuz i left a couple easter eggs in the past chapters now they're finally getting expllaaaainneddd  
> hel ye
> 
> next chap will probs be out same time next week
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! <333333
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.letlancelive.tumblr.com/)


	5. Highway to Hell (p1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i forget that real people actually read this  
> so whenever i see shit on tumblr about it completely unprovoked  
> i'm like  
> ????  
> it exists on this plane as well???
> 
> anyway- thank you guys- you're making my shitty life a lil better :D
> 
> also this chapter was so easy to write- i'm glad i'm getting into the groove of things  
> alsoooo keeiiithhhhs perspectivvvveeeee

_12:04_ **Lance** : missed the bus

 _12:04_ **Lance** : yooouuuuu shoouuullldddd drriiiivvveeee mmeeeeeeeee

 _12:04_ **Lance** : ;3c

 _12:10_ **Lance** : nvm one’s pulling up now

 _12:11_ **Lance** : cu in 10

 

No matter your age, gender, or stamina, everyone is scared of the possibilities public transportation seems to conjure up. 

You are alone, trapped in a small shipping container on wheels with a bunch of strangers. Each passenger appears to be patient zero for a new unique breed of the common cold. They are all staring at you, their identities hidden behind wool scarves and red bleary eyes. You are struggling to pay the fare. Just as you manage to open the small coin purse, the small pieces of money have escaped their confines and are scattering freely all over the bus. Sounds of coins rolling on the ground, you are apologizing profusely, a baby is crying in the distance, you can feel your soul leaving your body, there is no more happiness, only the distant hum of the bus’s engine.

 

“You gon’ sit down, or what?”

Lance glanced back at the driver, removing himself entirely from the convoluted fantasy. He gave the woman a small nod and bashfully tucked his metro card back into his wallet. He should really stop spacing out all the time. Lance moved into the crowded bus, ducking around the jungle of limbs and overstuffed backpacks, scanning for any open seat the gods would bless him with. In some bit of luck, an opening of 90s carpeted seating sprouted in his vision. The small gap was nestled between two fairly decently sized old women, but with Lance’s lanky frame and his charm, he would be able to slip in. Lance made a beeline towards the seat, smiling to himself. 

Lance pulled up to the women, and, after exchanging a couple winks for some entertained blushing, the college student plopped onto the seat, delighting in his luck. He pulled out his phone, glancing at the screen. No new texts. They were probably just too involved in the “new findings” they had talked to him about. He scrolled through the songs, grinning wickedly as he put on his earbuds. The build up to _Yoncé_ began. 

For those of you that do not listen to Beyoncé and her melodious tunes, you may not be aware of how the beginning of the masterpiece _Yoncé_ starts up. It opens with absolute silence. Then, with a slow build up, a small hum rises from the darkness, reminiscent of an airplane speeding up on the runway before taking flight. Just as soon as you can almost hear the air pop in your ears from the impending aircraft, the bass drops and background vocals slip in.

Lance was well aware of the many subtitles in the song, as he had listened to it (checks iTunes) 473 times. If given the opportunity, he could give you a beat by beat record of practically every Beyoncé song released to the public (including most Destiny’s Child’s ones). So believe the surprise when Lance heard something entirely new blossom up in the song as he pressed play. 

 _Probably nothing._ Lance closed his eyes and rested his head against the glass window. After many years of riding public transportation, the jarring vibrations from the bus window did nothing to affect Lance. It almost lulled him to sleep. That is, till he heard that same thing again. 

It- it sounded like-

 

_“Lance!”_

 

Lance shot up in his seat and ripped out the headphones from the jack. The song evaporated and all that was left were the quiet rumblings of the vehicle and hushed conversations. Lance looked wide-eyed at his phone screen. It showed a picture of Beyoncé staring deeply back into Lance’s eyes. Was- was Beyoncé trying to communicate with-

“ _LANCE!_ ” someone hissed. 

Lance took a moment of quiet relief (and slight disappointment) when he realized that the singer wasn’t calling out to him through iTunes. He scanned the crowd of shivering adults, all packed together in the small room. In the far end of the bus, hidden almost completely behind a business man’s double chin and a woman’s pompomed hat, two bright purple eyes met his own. 

As soon as Lance caught sight of him, Keith instinctively looked away, busily staring outside the dust-smeared window. Beyond all the noise of a baby’s wail and the conversations of bus goers, Keith could hear the familiar beep of Lance’s heart monitor. He took a steadying breath and whispered a small ‘ _fuck’_. Of _course_ ,Lance would be on this bus.

Lance watched Keith’s cheeks flare up as he looked out the window. Out of all the places Lance had expected to find Keith, the Mx10 crusty bus was not on the top of his list.

 

…yes, Lance kept a list. 

 

Why was Keith on the bus? Was Keith- omygod- Keith was stalking him! That’s how Keith knew all about Lance’s Hero Moment’sTM. Keith had probably been watching his every move, with his face pressed up against the diner window, breath fogging up the glass,  just _waiting_ for Lance to do something stupid/heroic. 

Now the real question remained unanswered: was this just because Keith was worried about his own life or was he secretly into Lance? After a couple of moments of grinning stupidly at the thought, Lance pinched himself. Nope. No more of them gay thoughts. Not ‘round here no more. 

Lance had made a vow to himself, and gosh darn it, he was gonna to stick to it. Keith was no longer on an option. Just imagine the thanksgiving diners of bringing Keith home. Hey, mamá! Check out the new slice of heavenly ham! He’s dead _and_ a murderer!

Granted, Lance was getting ahead of himself. There was no proof that Keith was even into Lance that way. Nope, Shiro had even confirmed that grim reapers weren’t into kissing people, let alone going out with desperate horny Latino boys.

Keith was off limits -a big no-no. 

Think about big bouncy tits instead. Yeah. Bobbies. 

…

Fuck. Was Keith reading his mind?

Keith had finally turned to acknowledge Lance’s existence, but Lance wasn’t sure what signals he was getting from the expression. Keith’s eyebrows were crinkled together, knit with worry. His eyes remained wide as if he was trying to convey something to him. God, his eyes were gorgeous. Where did he get off on being so goddam perfect?!

It took Lance a couple seconds of frustrated staring until he realized that Keith had been mouthing something at him the whole time. The college student could make out a couple ‘you’s’ and ‘off’, but everything else was too difficult to understand. Lance made a small shrug with his shoulders, eliciting an indignant huff from Keith.

The bus slowed to a stop. Not many of the passengers got off, but many piled in, including a family of 6. Lance groaned as the noise level and the distance from Keith increased. Lance could just barely make out a fraction of the boy’s face now. 

After the bus started up once more, Keith raised his eyebrows, indicating at Lance to focus. Lance gave a small wink back, trying to convey the small thread of thought ‘ _Always focused on you, baby ;)))_ ’.

Fuck. Goddammit, Lance. We talked about this. Stop. Flirting.

Keith ignored his burning cheeks and opted to use the ancient art of hand gestures. 

Granted he had to be subtle and quick about it, he didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention. 

Keith raised his hand to his chin, almost as if he was going to stroke an imaginary beard. With one casual motion, Keith pointed to Lance, mouthing the word ‘you’. Lance nodded. Okay. So far so good. With his hand still at his chin, Keith made one sharp slicing movement across his throat, lolling his tongue out and flicking his eyes closed for a split second. He glanced back at Lance. The college student nodded slowly back, this time much less unsure. 

Good. Bring it on home, Keith. The grim reaper searched the bus, looking for the button that indicated to the bus driver to make a stop nearby. One was just across Keith to his left. He made eye contact with Lance and motioned with his head at the button. Lance craned his neck to see what Keith was gesturing towards, but couldn’t find what he was looking for. Lance squinted his eyes at Keith, fully confused at this point.

Keith gave an exasperated sigh. He couldn’t just yell at Lance, there were- Keith glanced around at the nearby grim reapers. They didn’t seem to notice the small bit of communication going on between the grim reaper and the mortal _who wasn’t even supposed to be able to see him._ Keith looked back at Lance. Now the roles were flipped and it was Lance who was gesturing at Keith, much less subtly than Keith would have liked. Keith turned his head away from Lance and watched him out of the corner of his eye. 

Lance was tapping a finger to his head, nodding all whilst mouthing something. Keith gave up on being subtle and turned to look directly at Lance. He was mouthing three words over and over. 

_‘Read my mind.’_

Fuck. No, he didn’t want to do that to Lance. Lance had told him specifically to never do that sort of thing, god he didn’t want Lance to hate him. Fuck. He couldn’t- it was an invasion- but…

Lance’s life mattered and right now it was in danger. 

Keith tried to convey everything in his expression, biting his lip nervously and looking back at Lance. 

_‘Are you sure?’_

Lance nodded back. ‘ _Yes.’_

Keith took in a deep breath and focused hesitantly on Lance’s life. Solely Lance. Everything dulled around him, blurring at the edges. The bus morphed into darkness, building a light of tunnel all towards Lance. 

Soon the scene was different, Keith foggily noticed the pressure from the women surrounding Lance, and the clinginess of the 90s carpeted chair. Then he could see himself, from across the bus, hidden partially behind the various bus riders. 

Wow. He looked tired. 

Fuck. Did that mean Keith should make sleeping a part of his schedule again?

Nevermind. More important things to-

_Fuck- he was worried about reading my mind- fuck- that’s- fuck that’s so cute._

Lance’s voice echoed dully through his mind. Keith could see a spread of blush grace his own cheeks- in fact, he could see Lance zeroing in on it. Keith ignored the rise of happiness his physical reaction seemed to have on Lance and chose to pull back a little from the mind. Previously, Keith wouldn’t have thought twice about invading people’s thoughts and rooting around for every little secret and light emotion. But this- it felt wrong. The tunnel brightened around Keith and soon Lance wasn’t the only thing in his vision. 

 

Keith relaxed comfortably into his own perspective once again, quietly watching Lance from across the bus. He nodded to indicate that everything was set. Lance grinned back and waited for Keith to begin explaining once more. After a couple of moments of consideration, Keith looked around the bus for the nearest reaper. Among the sickly passengers, it was difficult to pinpoint the aura of death the reapers seemed to wear- Keith could understand how Lance hadn’t realized the danger he was in. However, once you knew what you were looking for, reapers can be fairly easy to spot. 

She was a woman in her mid-30s, her dark hijab matching her loose suit. Keith motioned towards her with his head. In fear of being noticed, Keith racked his brains desperately for any song he could think/sing to dissuade any prying minds. 

He failed in remembering anything, let alone a couple lines from a song. 

The reaper tensed, sensing someone’s eyes on her. She turned to look at Keith, arching an eyebrow, probably rooting around in his mind. 

 _Sorry,_ Keith smiled back sheepishly. _It’s one of my first assignments- kinda nervous…_ At this, she nodded thoughtfully and turned back towards her position in front of the family of 6. She might still be listening in, but Keith took the chance and shot a quick look in Lance’s direction. 

Lance was staring at her, shocked and horrified. After a couple of moments of frozen fear, Lance panicked and quickly looked away. He darted his eyes around the bus, landing on the various reapers scattered throughout. With each sighting, Keith could feel Lance’s panic drop like dead weight into his gut. Keith could feel Lance’s barely working heart speed up in his chest, dully throbbing blood against his ears. Lance’s hands clenched into fists. He looked over at Keith, his eyes wide. Lance shook his head slightly. 

_‘Is everyone here going to die?’_

It took a moment to hit Keith. The strong tug of foreign shared emotions was always jarring, but Keith had never felt something like this before. A stirring rage and sense of purpose snaked around him. Keith could feel his chest rise with hope, a bubbling of air pressing against his ribcage. And then it clicked. 

Lance wasn’t scared for himself, Lance was scared for everyone else. And, _god,_ to feel that first hand, the rebelliousness, the inability to accept someone’s fate, the passion-

Needless to say, if Keith had a heart monitor on his wrist, it would have been a constant slurring of endless beeps. 

Keith gave Lance a somber nod. _Please don’t do anything,_ Keith thought back. He knew Lance couldn’t hear him- but even if he could, he doubted that would do anything to dissuade the determined college student. 

_‘I have to stop this.’_

Keith shook his head, desperately mouthing the word, ‘no’. Lance glared back, tilting his head towards the family standing near him. 

_‘I can’t just let them all die!’_

_You’ll die too, you idiot! Just get off the bus now, please!_ Keith begged him, hoping that everything was being conveyed. But Lance had no way of understanding him. Lance just scowled back. 

_‘I’m not letting this happen.’_

Keith stared back, frustrated by his inability to communicate with Lance. Lance turned to look around the area. He squeezed past the two women sitting near him and stood up, grabbing onto the pole. Just below Lance’s hand was the button to make a stop. He quickly jabbed it, a small beep sounding at the front of the bus. Keith focused on Lance, desperate to find out what was going on in his head. _Please don’t do anything stupid, please don’t do anything stupid- god please, Lance. You have to stay safe._

The unending need to convey his thoughts, his emotions, his fears, forced Keith into Lance’s mind fully once more. The tunnel vision warped back. Images were flitting across, almost like a movie screen, each passing as quickly than the last- a flurry of ideas and thoughts, all containing the same root: saving the people on the bus. Lance rejected each idea, trying to find the balancing point between subtly and efficiency. In the mind's eye, Keith could see Lance clearing his voice and looking around the bus. 

This was the moment.

Lance inhaled a deep breath and projected his voice as far as he could. 

“EVERYONE OFF THE BUS NOW!” Lance yelled. The conversations stilled immediately, the tension thickening. Keith could feel the tightness in his chest constrict even further. But even with this feeling of dread, Lance’s confidence was boosting within him. A sense of shared recklessness flowed through their veins. 

“IF YOU DON’T GET OFF THE BUS, EVERYONE WILL DIE!” Lance’s voice echoed off the dirty windows. The bus screeched to a halt, bathing them in complete silence. Keith prayed, hoped that no one would leave. They had to die. Lance, get off the bus, you didn’t have to die.

Lance was completely ignoring Keith, avoiding the reaper's eyes in favor of looking around pleading at the surrounding people. In all the tense silence, a small child gave out a choked sob. This completely evaporated the illusion of safety. People began to push and shove against the small doors, the bus ceased its humming and the passengers pressed up between the small exits. 

Keith watched it all unfold in horror. He could feel the coppery stare of the reapers on Lance. They knew, they could sense the feeling of death off the boy. Lance wasn’t safe. 

Before he even knew what he was doing, Keith was shoving against the flow of people, trying to reach, to save Lance. His rage against Lance, his stupid heroics, was laced with a sense of protectiveness. God, Lance just _had_ to save everyone. He just had to be the goddam hero. Keith shoved against the people, still watching himself from the corner of Lance’s perspective. God- he felt so angry. Why did Lance do this?! Didn’t he know that this would fuck him in the future? Why would he ever- everyone was supposed to die! You can’t change a person’s fate! You’re not supposed to- Lance-

Keith was now grabbing the collar of Lance’s shirt, not fully realizing that every thought in his mind was tumbling out of his mouth without of filter. He was yelling desperately at Lance, trying to stop what had already happened. Lance stared up at him, almost terrified. 

“Keith,” he said. The reaper ignored him. The noise of the hurrying people drowning out the words. 

“You can’t- Lance these people were supposed to die! You have to let them die! You can’t-“

“Keith.”

“Why did you do this? I can’t protect you anymore!” These words fell out in a sort of sob, rather than fueled anger. The people surrounding them, desperate to leave the bus rammed into Keith, pushing him flush against Lance. 

“Keith!” Lance shouted. 

 

The bus stilled. 

 

Almost as if someone had hit a rewind button, the pervious events reversed. People popped back into their sitting positions, all watching the raving boy clutching onto Lance’s shirt. It had all been in Lance's head, just a prediction of what was to come. Keith stared back into Lance’s eyes, terrified of his own actions. He had let his emotions cloud his judgment once more. 

“Keith,” Lance’s voice much quieter than before. “I haven’t done anything yet.” 

Keith looked wildly around. The people on the bus had been watching the entire scene of Keith’s confused perspective. Keith had linked too closely to Lance, shedding his invisibility in favor of projecting his feelings recklessly towards Lance. He had put himself in danger. Lance was in danger. It had all been in Lance’s mind, and Keith had come too close, morphing their thoughts together to build some sort of alternate reality.

Lance hadn’t done a single thing except press a button. 

This was Keith’s fault. Lance was in danger because of Keith. 

Lance watched the grim reaper slowly release his grip on Lance’s shirt, backing up, never breaking eye contact. The sudden unexpected outburst from the grim reaper had left Lance unsure, confused. The eyes once filled with determination now darted around the room, drowning with uncertainty. Keith looked like a wounded deer in headlights, his chest falling up and down in quick short breaths. 

Lance knew the reapers were slowly closing in on him, practically sniffing the impossibility of his existence. He knew he was fucked. He had seconds before one of them attempted to finish Keith’s job. He had to-

“EVERYONE OFF THE BUS! I HAVE A BOMB!”

Lance stared at Keith, surprised at the reaper’s command. The sudden shift in demeanor, from terrified to terrifying. Keith was practically growling at the nearby passengers, his hand tucked into his leather jacket, insinuating something far more sinister.  
Lance knew it was all an act, he knew Keith was doing something he himself couldn’t. Keith was protecting him, nothing else. But an unwanted thought bubbled up, Shiro’s last words floating to the surface of Lance’s mind. Keith’s act was too convincing. Something whispered in a sick metallic voice at the back of his skull, speaking the things Lance was too afraid to consider.

 

_It’s almost as if he’s done this before…_

 

Instantly, the bus shrieked to a halt. The doors flew open and the people streamed out in fear, blocking the path of the impending reapers. Lance stared back at Keith, his mind wandering towards the darkened parts of Keith’s past. The crowd flowed around the stand still boys, each locked in on the other. Someone shoved against Lance, ripping him from Keith’s gaze. When he regained his balance, Keith had vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!IMPORTANT!!!  
>  this is just part 1!!!  
> I intended this chapter to be longer, but being the impulsive little shit that I am, i decided to give you what I had now and post the second part later tonight
> 
> SO IN A COUPLE HOURS, THERE WILL BE MORE
> 
> ur fucking welcome u ho
> 
>  
> 
> also you should def comment cuz that's how i feed. (what findings was lance talking about earlier- is keith a complete hoe- what is lance's fav beyonce song- what YOUR fav beyonce song???)
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.letlancelive.tumblr.com/)


	6. Highway to Hell (p2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FUCK GUYS  
> FUCK I FUCKED UP  
> GUYSYSSSS  
> FUCK  
> i ACCIDENTALLY POSTED LIKE HALF OF THE CHAPTER SO YOU GUYS DIDN'T EVEN GET THE BEGINNING OF IT WHOOPS  
> JEEZ I'M SORRY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK  
> LISTEN I DIDN'T SLEEP LAST NIGHT  
> SO  
> FUCK  
> DAMMIT  
> I'M SORRY  
> FUCK
> 
> HERE'S THE REAL CHAPTER  
> FUCK

The wonderful thing about absolute fear is that it seems to dull down all the other emotions and thoughts racing through your brain. 

Worried about that impending test you have to take?

Just play leap frog with actual traffic! You’ll forget all about that quiz in no time!

Ever have a crush you just can’t stop thinking about?

Drink bleach! See if you can get your stomach pumped in time!

Ever wondered what the goddam fucking hell was going on?

Did your boo save your life in some mysterious mystical way and THEN GIVE YOU LITERALLY NO INFORMATION AT ALL?

Did he just abandon you in a bus full of grim reapers?

Are you secretly hurt by the betrayal but also terrified because you’re jumping to conclusions about whoever he murdered???????

DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER BECAUSE NOW YOU’RE RUNNING FOR YOUR FUCKING LIFE. ENJOY THIS BRIEF SENSE OF CLARITY. 

Everything was blurring around Lance, the screams, the shuffling bodies, the sick smell of death, everything evaporated. All that was left was the sound of his heart speeding up, thrummingagainst his ribcage and the small quiet thought that lingered in his mind.  
_Keith left you._

_Alone._

Lance shook his head free of such doubts and focused solely on his goal of surviving. He had still yet to exit the bus, blocked by the many bodies crushed against one another. Lance pushed further, just a foot away from escape. Maybe the reapers wouldn’t attack him here… maybe they’d let him go. 

Someone grabbed Lance’s hand. Their touch was like ice. 

_Keith?_

Lance turned to meet the person. Instead of brilliant dark eyes, a pair of yellow hazel eyes met his. The man grinned wickedly at Lance, his grip tightening. His hair was silver, falling just above his shoulders, a dark contrast to his black suit. 

The man nodded his head gently towards Lance, almost a gesture of respect, before raising the hand to his lips. 

_Fuck. Lucius Malfoy is going to kill me._

Even though Lance would adamantly deny it, he was no master of any specific defensive arts.In short, Lance was fucked. However, years of evading creepy people at bars had made Lance a practical pro at the art of avoiding. And though he generally worked with more subtly, this situation didn’t really call for that sort of thing. 

Seconds before the grim reaper’s lips met Lance’s skin, Lance dropped to the ground, pulling his entire weight with him. His hand slipped out of the icy hold and Lance quickly began to scuttle between the legs, crawling on his hands and knees in desperation. He could hear the shouts of protest from the people surrounding him as he brushed against their jeans. Honestly, Lance should have been ashamed and disgusted by how pathetic he must’ve appeared, but again: when you’re running for you life, are you really worried about looking cool? Lance sure as hell wasn’t. 

The icy hand grabbed onto one of Lance’s legs. Without looking back, Lance kicked against the person, hoping that his nonexistent aim was enough. After a couple kicks (and subsequently, a couple kicks back), Lance’s foot made contact with a face and the grip immediately relaxed. 

Taking full advantage of this, Lance travelled forwards, ignoring the filthy floor of the bus now coating his pants. He slipped in between the limbs and with a sigh of relief, jumped down the steps of the exit. He sucked in a quick breath of air that wasn’t tainted by cough medicine and disease, and, before anyone could grab hold of him, ran for his fucking life.

If you’re going to know anything about my boi leggy Lance, it’s that the kid could RUN. Jeez, if Lance wasn’t such a lazy ass, he probably would’ve been able to go to his destination faster if he had just ran instead of taking the bus. But, why exert the extra effort when you can just nap instead???

The unfortunate thing about running however, is that the steady rhythm seemed to have a calming effect on Lance. As his feet hit the pavement, slamming into the ground in a upbeat tempo, Lance was left alone with the shadows of his thoughts. Stuck following the trail in his mind and the trail of sidewalk cement. 

Lance’s life was permanently fucked after this- there was no going back. The reapers knew of his existence- fuck. How do you even hide from a grim reaper? Is that even possible? Shit. Fuck. Why the fuck did Keith leave him? 

Why would Keith do that to him? He made this big show about worrying about him earlier, and just as the shit hit the fan, the guy disappears. 

Lance rambled on, his mind coming to one specific conclusion:

Keith was a DICK. 

Absolute fucking asshole Santa Dickmas, spreading jerkiness and diarrhea to all the unsuspecting pretty boys in the world. _Suuuure. Just bat your long lashes and flash me those violets._ It was obvious that Keith regretted everything. If given the opportunity, Keith would take it all back. Lance was just some big mistake he had pulled and Keith didn’t give two shits about him. 

Two could play that game. 

Lance rounded the corner of the street, slowing to a stop in front of the house. He warily looked around him- no one was in sight. Maybe he had bought a little bit oftime- honestly Lance had no idea what he was doing- or what he should do. A desperate need for guidance clouded his mind. Lance couldn’t do this alone. 

He knocked on the door. 

After a couple of shouts and banging were heard from within, the door swung open and Pidge stared blankly at Lance. 

“Took you a while,” they muttered, stalking back into the house. Lance followed after, giving the area one last look before closing the door behind him. Noises of distant bubbling and gas burning simmered in the distance. Pidge led Lance down the darkened hallway towards their room. As soon as Pidge opened the door, a cloud of smoke crashed out and curled around the walls and floor. Lance waved his hand in front of his face, trying to see past the dense fog as he entered the room. He blindly groped around. 

“Marco!”

Almost immediately, someone responded back with a ‘Polo!’. Lance grinned and moved towards the voice, soon running into the soft warm person. 

“Hunk!”

“Lance!” 

The two embraced, Lance pressing his cheek into the man’s chest, Hunk squeezing the living daylights out of Lance. Hunk pulled back and quickly placed a pair of goggles on Lance’s face. As the college student adjusted the glasses, Hunk moved to open a window, rushing out the steam and clearing the room. 

As the visibility returned, Lance looked around the room. Pidge had somehow managed to sit on the bed in all of the smoke and was flipping through various cards, examining each paper carefully. Hunk had returned to a boiling chemistry set, fiddling around with the gas dials. Lance watched, confused about his surroundings.  
“So, uh… why did you guys want me to come here again?” Lance walked over to Hunk’s station,squinting at the vials. They didn’t really seem to contain anything other than smoke. Hunk watched Lance carefully, making sure the curious student didn’t poke anything (like he normally did). 

Lance raised a finger to poke the side of the vial. Hunk swatted the hand away. Pidge cleared their throat. 

“Remember when I went to visit Rollo’s mart?”

Lance kept his eyes transfixed on the vials, but made a sound of acknowledgement. He ignored how thoughts of that day bubbled up and instead chose to focus on Shiro’s warning. 

Never go into Rick Rollo’s Mart. 

“Well,” Hunk continued. “After snooping around a bit, Pidge stumbled into the boiler room and found something preeettttyyyyy weeeiiirrrdddd…” Lance smiled at Hunk’s escaping giddiness. Pidge jumped off the bed and walked over to Lance, holding up a small photograph. It looked like a fairly normal boiler room, nothing out of the ordinary popped out to him. Hunk looked over his shoulder and pointed to one of the big machines. 

“Mkay, so this is _supposed_ to be the central cooling system,” Hunk explained. 

“Ya, _supposed_ to be,” Pidge echoed, bouncing on the balls of their feet. Man, since when was Lance friends with a bunch of _neeerrrddsss?_

Pidge pulled out another photograph from the stack. This one showed a small metal chamber completely empty. 

“But, for some reason,” they continued. “It had a door on the side… so, me being the curious dick I am-“

Hunk nodded respectively, muttering a ‘tru tru’. 

“-opened that sucker right up and-” Pidge placed another photograph in Lance’s hands. “Well, just look!” From what Lance could make out, it seemed to be a giant hole, seared out of the cement basement floor. The hole revealed no bottom, only demonstrating the true meaning of the word ‘black’. Why have a fake cooling system just to cover up a hole?

“Fuck- what-?” Lance started, but was quickly quieted as Hunk gestured towards the lab table.  
“Soooooo- Pidge grabbed some samples of the air quality-”

“Inside and outside Rollo’s” Pidge corrected. 

“Right- inside and outside- and duuude there is sooo much carbon monoxide in that air. Like so much,” Hunk said, a little too cheery about the fact. Lance looked back at the photographs. 

“I guess that explains why people are so easily murdered there- unsuspecting an already drugged…” Lance muttered. 

Pidge grinned. “That’s what we think too!” Lance looked up from the photo, still confused about one aspect. 

“Why were you investigating this in the first place?”

Pidge and Hunk glanced at each other for a moment, an unspoken conversation drifting between them. Pidge pulled out their phone and began swiping through their photos. Hunk shifted in his stance.

“Well, last week, when you and I were posing for that food photo- Pidge caught something wacky in the distance,” Hunk explained uneasily. Why were they so uncomfortable? Pidge held up their phone. Lance remembered this. Around midnight, they had all rolled up to Rollo’s and tried posing next to all the sexually suggestive food names. In this particular photo, Lance and Hunk were vogueing next to a stand that carried ramen noodles named “Soup for Sluts”. 

“Look behind Hunk’s shoulder,” Pidge instructed. Lance took the phone and zoomed in on the photo. Lance squinted, almost dropping the phone when he made it out.   
It was made entirely out of black smoke, oozing a dark substance, shaping itself into a vaguely humanoid form. It looked like a shadow had peeled itself off a wall and began walking around the supermarket.  
“What the fuck is that?” Lance breathed, handing back the phone in a daze. Pidge and Hunk didn’t answer. Pidge shoved their phone back into their pocket and began riffling around the physical photos again.

“So, I went back the next week. And- I saw it again-” Pidge held up the photograph.

It was a photo in the pet section of Rollo’s mart. The dearly departed Agatha stood watching as a human like cloud of smoke reached for the top shelf. Lance didn’t dare look at his friend’s expressions. He could feel their eyes boring into him. Should he deny it completely? They had to know- right? They totally knew. Fuck- now it looked like Lance was just casually chilling with demons. 

“That woman you see next to it died not an hour later,” Pidge added quietly, still watching Lance like a hawk. 

The doorbell chimed. Lance breathed a small sigh of relief, grateful for the distraction.

“I’ll get it!” Hunk blurted out, ready to leave the tension filled room. Lance nodded and began distracting himself with the vials once more. Pidge watched him, as if he was a ticking time bomb. They looked through the photographs once more and placed one on the table without a word. Lance didn’t need to look down to know what it was. But, he did anyway. 

The photograph was almost identical to the previous one, except it contained one more person: Lance. He was staring at the mass of smoke with a dumb look in his face, ignoring Agatha’s rolling eyes in the background. Lance looked happy. 

He wished he could’ve seen Keith’s expression. 

Should he tell them? 

Maybe they could help- he sure as hell wasn’t getting any guidance from Keith. 

“Pidge- I-”

Hunk walked back into the room. “Ding dong ditched- guys.” he said, still smiling optimistically. Leave it to Hunk to brighten any room. Lance grinned back. He decided then and there that he was going to tell them everything.

Unfortunately, Lance never got the opportunity. 

For in that moment, following closely behind the engineer, the man with hazel eyes and a thin, long face walked into the room. His eyes shifted around the room, landing directly on Lance. He smirked. 

“I know you can see me, Lance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment on how much you love cliffhangers <333  
> I know i do!!
> 
> love hearing from you guys- absolutely makes my day
> 
> bother me on [ tumblr](http://www.letlancelive.tumblr.com/) <33


	7. The Blade Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> only chap i couldn't insert a song in ;((((
> 
> so in case you were wondering what's playing on lance's ipod rn
> 
> it's [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5aZJBLAu1E/)
> 
>  
> 
> (the video is a masterpiece- just -ugh - just everything about it is incredible- the shitty green screen, the half naked men popping out from behind fake buildings, the literal fairy men, the windows XP effect, mother nature's slow turn to the camera- ugh i love it all)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy some supportive friendship- cuz klance needs more of that

Ten beats per minute. 

An actual scientific impossibility. Pidge couldn’t even classify it as an unanswered question, it was more of just a statement. One sentence- no a word. A singular word revealed from a thousand paged book. A small corner of an image, building up into something much greater, much more mysterious.

It shouldn’t be any surprise to you when Pidge decided to dedicate an entire notebook to the impossibility of Lance. 

“You shouldn’t be alive,” they stated, impatiently tapping their foot. It had taken Pidge more than an hour just to fill up three other tubes. This was the last. Lance didn’t reply. He just kept his eyes glued to the vial as it slowly filled with a rich red substance. It was two weeks after the incident. Lance had just recently been released from the hospital. The bandages surrounding his neck and arms practically glowed off his dark skin. 

Without any warning, Pidge quickly detached the tubing from the needle and slowly pulled the needle out from the forearm. Lance winced. Hunk held out his hand for the sample and quickly hooked it up to the machine. 

“How long ‘til it’s done?” Lance asked, grabbing the box of bandaids from Pidge. He carefully placed the Powerpuff Girl bandage on the small pucker of red blossoming. He still couldn’t tell if the obvious injuries made him look badass or just pathetic. But with this small band-aid- it was definitely leaning more towards the badass range.

“Not long, it’s mainly just some chemical reaction shit-” Hunk muttered, attentive to the machine’s every whirl and moan. Lance’s eyes followed the blood as it flowed through the tubes, depositing somewhere in the metal interior. One of the lights flashed bright green as a small slip of colored paper rolled out of the machine. Before Hunk could grab it, Pidge jumped up and snatched the paper, examining it closely. 

“What does the blue mean for #5?” they asked. Hunk moved over to review the chart. 

“Huh,” he muttered. He glanced over in Lance’s direction, squinting his eyes. “I mean, I should have seen it coming- but, I don’t know. The oxygen in Lance’s blood is practically nonexistent.” Pidge nodded, contemplating the new information. 

“Yeah, that makes sense- it’s probably not even able to travel the newly oxygenated blood to the other areas of the body that well…” Pidge’s voice trailed off. So Lance wasn’t even getting a normal amount of oxygen in his blood… how had his appendages not turned blue and fallen off? Was his body compensating in any way? Lost in their thoughts, Pidge wandered out of the room and entered the bathroom. They turned on the sink faucet and plugged the drain, watching as the water slowly filled to the top. 

“Lance, get in here,” they yelled back, quickly turning off the water before it overflowed. Hunk and Lance crowded the small room, confused about the small genius’s actions. Pidge gestured towards the sink. “Stick your head in. I wanna see how long you can hold your breath.” Lance groaned, muttering something about ruining his makeup, but lowered his head. After a second of hesitation, Lance inhaled a deep breath and submerged his head in the clear water. Pidge clicked the timer. 

 

Due to Lance’s slow beating heart, there was no way of knowing if he had died or not.

“Your body physically won’t let you drown. That’s why people commit suicide by tying themselves to a cement block,” Pidge stated, their eyes unmoving from Lance’s figure. 

“Yeah, I knooow. But, that’s for normal people. Lance’s body isn’t normal,” Hunk groaned, glancing back at the watch. “How long is the world record anyway?”

Pidge shrugged, “I dunno.” 

Hunk grumbled and pulled out his phone, typing furiously. Lance’s monitor gave out a long, low beep. 

“Twenty-two minutes and twenty-two seconds- _fuuuck_. And that’s with hyperventilating oxygen before-hand! Pidge!” 

Pidge kept their arms folded over their chest, refusing to remove Lance. 

“ _Pidge_ ,” Hunk’s worried voice turning stern. “You know Lance doesn’t have this much of an attention span to stick his head in a sink this long.”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” Pidge breathed. Instantly the two of them grabbed onto Lance’s shoulders and pulled him out. The water whipped over Lance’s head and he breathed in a gasp. Hunk grabbed a nearby towel. They silently watched as Lance patted himself down. 

“Fuck, how long was that?” Lance choked out. Pidge winced, remembering the timer and quickly stopped it. 

“Uh, a little less than thirty-one minutes and fifteen seconds.”

Lance gaped, staring into the mirror above the sink. “What the fuck- I didn’t- it didn’t feel that long…” He arched his neck and stared at the bandage hiding the deep gash. Lance gently placed his hand on the raised skin, trailing it through the cloth. “What the fuck,” he whispered. Hunk nudged him out of the bathroom and followed Pidge into their bedroom. Instantly, Pidge began recording the data into the journal. As this was happening, Hunk moved over to examine the other slips of paper the machine had sputtered out. Lance flopped down on the beanbag chair. 

“How do you feel now?” Pidge glanced up from the findings. Lance shrugged. 

“Dunno, fine- I guess… my chest does hurt a little.” Pidge moved over to the college student and grabbed his wrist. They glanced at the current number (7bpm) on the monitor and scrolled through the history. 

“Fuck,” they breathed. Lance snatched his hand away.

“What is it?” he examined his monitor, looking at the heart rate during his breathing challenge. “Fuck.”

 

One beat per minute. 

 

“You’re not doing that again,” Pidge asserted and walked back to their notebook. 

 

Over the months, few things of substance had been collected. Nothing really answering as to _how_ Lance was alive, but they did help lead Pidge and Hunk into a better direction. However, it was the small things, things that didn’t involve the biology of his heart that really intrigued them. 

In terms of happier things they noticed, Lance sang more. He would always be bursting into song at the strangest times, in a line for coffee, at the movie theater, at the grocery store. He was practically always humming or drumming a beat, pulling out from the conversation and focusing dulling on the space in front of him. 

 

Lance was more... superstitious. 

“Nope, not feeling Chipotle today,” he would huff, peering warily into the crowded restaurant. “Getting some bad juju…” Hunk would argue, beg, plead at the Cuban boy, but nothing would sway his decision. This would happen more than not. Refusing to board a bus, denying access to a bar, even going so far as to skip a class just because he ‘wasn’t feeling it’. It never made any sense, because seconds before entering, Lance would be rearing to go. But after one quick glance into the room, Lance would stand stiff as a board and deny access to both of his close friends. 

 

Not to mention, Lance was quickly becoming a small town hero. He always seemed to be in the right spot at the right time: saving a woman from choking, catching kids just as they fell out of trees, always handy with a fire extinguisher. He seemed to anticipate every danger, always alert to his surroundings. 

 

However, not everything seemed to change for the better. 

Their first clue to Lance’s troubles was his insistence on keeping his scar covered at all times. Every day he would wear some high-necked shirt, or a scarf, or even in cases when he had to swim, just a large waterproof bandaid. But Hunk nor Pidge never made any move to question this, as they figured like most victims, he was self-conscious of the fatal scar. This was, however, not the case.

 

Pidge was the first one to wake up. They glanced down at their wrist, looking at the illuminated small green numbers. 

 

4:04 AM

 

Pidge crawled over to the source of the noise. In the small sleeping bag laid Lance. He was writhing around in a fitful dream, bathed in his own sweat. He made small pained gasps, his face scrunched up in hurt. Lance’s hand was clawing, scratching desperately at the skin on his neck, the band-aid now laying useless next to him. In the darkness, it was difficult to tell, but Pidge was sure that Lance had dug into his skin, cutting the flesh with his nails. The monitor rang out a slur of beeps.

“Lance,” Pidge pried off Lance’s hand. It balled into a fist, fighting for its independence. “Hunk!” Pidge called out. The sleeping giant gave out a small snort. 

“Wha-?” he sat up in a bleary daze. 

“Help me with Lance! Something’s wrong!” Pidge was still struggling against Lance’s strength. The boy had now begun to hyperventilate in his sleep, silver tears tracking down his cheeks. He gave out a muffled shout. Hunk instantly moved to his friend's side and helped Pidge hold him down.  
“Lance- buddy, wake up. Lance!”

The sleeping man struggled for a bit more, his breathing shaggy and off beat. After a moment more of pushing against his two friends, Lance’s eyes flashed open in terror. 

“Get off me!” he screamed, his voice raspy. Pidge and Hunk lessened their grip slightly. 

“Shh, Lance. It’s us. Hunk and Pidge, it’s ok. We’re here.” Hunk tried to keep his voice low and soothing, releasing his grip on Lance as the words sank in. 

Lance was still hyperventilating. He slapped his hand to his neck and looked desperately at his friends.  
“There’s- I have to get it out- there’s something- he shoved something into my neck and I can’t-“ His words fell out of him, rushing, tumbling after the other, the tears still clouding his eyes. Hunk placed his arm over Lance’s shoulder and began rubbing calming circles into his back. Lance latched onto the rhythm.

“Eight in, eight out. Come on,” Hunk began counting down with Lance as they breathed in and out. His breath still came out shuddering, but as it slowed down, Lance quickly wiped off his tears and started to collect himself. Pidge had walked out of the room and returned with some disinfectant and a fresh band-aid. They turned on a small lamp and sat next to Lance, slowly patting away the blood from his neck. Everything was silent except for the sounds of Lance’s haggard breathing the night noises from outside. 

“I-“ Lance croaked out. Hunk hushed him.

“You don’t need to explain- it’s okay,” Hunk said, still rubbing circles into Lance’s back. Lance sniffled and nodded quietly, waiting as Pidge gently placed the band-aid back onto his neck. 

“There,” they said softly. “All better.” Lance raised his hand to the band-aid and gingerly touched the plastic. 

“There’s something there,” Lance’s eyes dulled as he stared blankly in front of him. “The glass, it’s still there. He-”

“Who’s ‘he’?” Hunk asked. Lance dropped his hand from his neck and paused. 

“The- the doctor. He shoved the glass back into my neck. It’s still there- I have to- I have to get it out! I have to-” Lance’s breath quickened again. Hunk hushed him. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay now. There’s nothing there. You’re safe now.” 

Pidge placed their hand on Lance’s. They leaned into his shoulder. “You’re doing great Lance. We’re here and you’re safe. It’s okay to be afraid. But, know that we’ll always be here for you. You don’t have to do this alone.” Lance didn’t reply, only nodded. 

A distant knock was heard. 

“Is someone at the front door?” Lance asked quietly. Pidge stood up. 

“It’s okay. Probably one of the neighbors. Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” Pidge glanced back at Hunk. They maintained eye contact briefly before he turned his attentions back to Lance. Pidge walked down the darkened hallway, careful to avoid any of the squeaky floorboards. They were lucky their parents were such deep sleepers. A knock sounded again, louder this time. Pidge grumbled and quickened their pace to the door. Pidge expected to see their usual nosey neighbor, Mrs. Ethel. She lived next door to the Holts since the beginning of time, always at her window with her trusty opera glasses, watching the neighborhood going ons. At the slightest bit of trouble, she would instantly run out of her house and bother anyone who would open their door. Pidge had often been lectured by the woman because of their wonky sleeping hours. 

“I noticed a light on,” she would say.  
“Yeah.”

“You shouldn’t be up at this hour, young lady,”

“Yeah.”

“What would your parents think?”

“Yeah.”

 

Pidge was in no mood to debate with Mrs. Ethel, but she had to stop her from knocking so insistently at least. Pidge opened the door. Hand posed right where the doorknob was (was he trying to break in?) stood a boy around Hunk’s age. He was wearing a completely black outfit matching his jet black hair. Pidge was digging the whole ‘I don’t give a fuck’ vibe this kid was giving off, matched his 80s leather jacket and the weird haircut. But, damn. What a fucking _emo._ He probably couldn’t cum unless MCR was playing in the background.

He dropped his hand and tried to peer around Pidge. 

“I- uh, heard some shouts.”

“Yeah.”

His nostrils flared at this response.

“Someone’s hurt,” The guy’s eyes narrowed. 

Pidge groaned. This kid didn’t look like he’d call the cops, in fact, he looked like he was on the run from them at the current moment. But then again, he also looked like the kind of guy that didn’t care about social decency and would barge in given any incentive. 

“Just a bad dream. He’s cool now.”

The kid nodded, tugging at the ends of his unraveling scarf. “Right,” the guy said turning. He started scratching the side of his neck through the scarf. “Tell him to stop- having bad dreams.” Pidge scoffed. 

“Will do, asshole!” They yelled, quickly shutting the door behind them. Probably not one of their smartest moments, but hopefully the guy wouldn’t try anything stupid. Pidge shuffled down the hallway into their room. 

Lance’s head was resting on Hunk’s stomach. Somehow he had fallen asleep in the span of a minute. Hunk widened his eyes at Pidge. 

“Can you hand me my sleeping bag? I don’t think I can move him.”

Pidge quickly dragged the bag over to Hunk and helped him in, trying to not disturb Lance. Pidge moved their sleeping bag near the two boys and quickly curled against them. 

“Who was at the door?” Hunk whispered. Pidge shrugged. 

“Dunno. Some dickwad,” they mumbled, allowing the blanket of sleep to cover them once more. 

 

“Mkay, so what I’m about to tell you guys is going to sound crazy and you can totally burn me to a stake if we survive this- but,” Lance took a deep breath. “There’s an invisible dude at the doorway and he’s going to kill me and I honestly don’t know what to do-” Lance backed up into the room, looking around widely for an exit. His eyes latched on the small window in the corner and he quickly ran over, struggling to open it. He turned back towards his shocked friends. 

“We have to leave! Now!”

Pidge glanced back at the doorway. There was nothing there. Pidge made eye contact with Hunk. Lance had never gotten this bad before. And it never happened during the day. Hunk shrugged and began helping Lance open the window, with much less urgency. 

Pidge turned to the doorway and took a quick picture on their phone. No black shadow. Huh. 

“They’re not showing up on my phone,” Pidge said warily. They still hadn’t made any move to exit, but they figured it wouldn’t help to completely reject Lance in his state. 

“You can only see them if they want you to-” Lance was cut off. He was staring at Pidge in horror. “No!” He screamed and rushed towards the small person. He tacked Pidge and quickly moved them bridal style across the room towards Hunk. Pidge struggled against Lance.  
“What the hell?!” they said. Lance dropped Pidge and moved in front of his friends, covering them with his arms outstretched.

“Fuck you!” he shouted at the air. Pidge and Hunk tried moving Lance out of the way. This had gone too far.   
“Lance, there’s nothing there…” Hunk said quietly. Lance didn’t move, he just glared back into the space in front of him, his monitor beeping wildly.  
“Lance-“ Pidge started.

“Shut up! I don’t have time for this! You have to trust me!” Lance yelled back. He inhaled a shaky breath and charged at the air. Something knocked him to the ground and he was left struggling, pushing back against something. How was he-? Lance cried out, his voice cutting out midway. The veins on his neck stood out. He was choking.   
“Lance!” Pidge cried out, moving towards the boy. They tried pulling him up, but it was as if he weighed a thousand pounds.  
“-Ge- off!” Lance managed to say. He kicked in the air, hitting Pidge. They stumbled back and fell to the ground, landing on something.

Instantly the room shifted. The air was still and the colors crisper. Pidge looked at Lance. He was pinned underneath a man. The person’s hands were wrapped around the college student’s throat. 

_Oh my god._

“Hunk! It’s real! He- he needs our-“ Pidge stopped and looked down at the floor, realizing what they had sat on. 

“Guuuys, this isn’t funny. What the fuck is-”

Pidge stood up, tightly grasping the large scythe. The blade gleamed in the light, small clouds of black swirling in the metal. Pidge seethed. This whole time- this is what Lance had been dealing with by himself? He had kept this secret from his friends. God- how had he not had a complete nervous breakdown?

“YOU FUCKER!” Pidge screamed, raising the weapon over their head. The man turned to look at Pidge, his hazel eyes widening with fear. “WHY” Pidge crashed the blade down onto the man’s back- “DIDN’T” Pidge raised the scythe again- “YOU” Pidge slashed the stomach “TELL” the man howled out in pain “US?” Pidge impaled the man one more. The being shrieked, his body darkening. The man twitched in pain, his fingers curled together. He collapsed onto Lance with one final howl, his body unmoving. A small silver thread of air twisted out of the body and slipped into the metal of the blade. 

Pidge’s knees buckled and they fell to the ground. Their grip on the scythe never faltered. Lance shoved off the body and laid still on his place on the ground, gasping for breath. 

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, GUYS?” Hunk shouted. He started pacing the room, muttering expletives. Pidge held out the scythe. 

“Grab this,” Pidge said. Hunk hesitated, but gave up all hopes of making sense and grappled at the air. Instantly the scythe solidified. He looked wildly around the room.

As soon as Hunk saw the blackened corpse, he threw up. 

“Ahhhh Huunkk, nooooo.” Pidge moaned, staring at the bile on the hardwood floors. Lance let out a snort of laughter, grinning up at his friends. In all the adrenaline, they smiled back, giggling at the situation. Hunk gave a sheepish shrug and broke out in a small laugh. Pidge quickly followed suit and soon they were left clutching their sides, laughing uncontrollably. 

That’s the funny thing about life and death situations- there’s nothing funny about it. And yet, even after such a close call, you're filled with complete unbridled happiness that the only thing to keep yourself from collapsing in fear, is to laugh. And that’s what the three students did. They laughed. 

They giggled as Hunk wearily cleaned up his vomit. They snorted as they struggled with moving the body outdoors. And they sniggered as they made small accidental eye contact while sitting on the sofa, watching tv. Yes, Lance had promised the answers to all of their questions, but right now, what they needed was to relax and recover from the mini heart attacks they had each suffered from.

Pidge handed the chip bag to Hunk, who blessed them with many thanks. Lance kept his eyes glued to the screen, grinning as the news reporter talked about the recent animal adoption boom in the city.

“A recent development on our breaking news coverage- a police sketch of the bus terrorist has been released to the public.”

An image of a kid around Hunk’s age popped on the screen. Lance breathed out a small ‘fuck’. Man, this kid must be some sort of a psychopath, making fake bomb threats on a bus like that. 

“He’s suggested to be around the ages 18-24, last seen wearing a black leather jacket, black scarf, and black jeans.” The screen flashed to an image of a woman with a microphone in her face. In the background was a milling group of people, most being interviewed. The screen read a small blurb on the bottom: _Winona- Witness to the Incident_

“I didn’t see him at first- didn’t even notice him. But then next thing I know, he’s grabbing onto this college kid, screaming ‘bout god knows what- panics, then yells at us to getoff cuz he has a bomb and all.” The woman shrugs. “Just happy to be safe.” 

The screen flashes back to the reporter, his face was deadpan, as always. “No bomb was found on the bus- however, after some careful inspection of the internal structure, the police soon found a gas leak on the bus. If it had been running a moment longer, the entire vehicle would have exploded.”

The face of the boy flashed on the screen once more.  
“If anyone knows of his whereabouts, please contact the pol-”

Lance quickly muted the television. He looked down at his hands.

“Guys, I-”

A crash sounded behind the group of students. They whirled around. Pidge clutched tightly on the scythe. Fuck, was it another one of these assholes?

There was a person laid sprawled on the ground. Pidge noticed that the window had been pried open, allowing access for the stranger. After a couple of moments of groaning, face planted on the ground, the person slowly raised themselves up, releasing a low ‘Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck’ complete with a voice crack. He glanced up at the students. 

It was the asshole from the television.

Lance jumped off the couch and ran to the kid’s side.   
“Lance!” Pidge said, holding the scythe in front of them. “Don’t touch him!” Hunk pulled the phone out of his pocket and began dialing.  
“Fuck-“ Lance groaned. “Hunk! Don’t call the police!” He was now supporting the person with his arm wrapped around his waist and the terrorist’s arm on Lance’s shoulder. Pidge couldn’t help but stare at the cuts and bruises covering the person’s body. His clothes were practically ripped to shreds, revealing deep long cuts spilling out blood.  
“Fuck, Keith,” Lance tried moving the boy towards the couch. Keith just dragged his feet, gripping onto Lance.  
“I couldn’t-” Keith groaned. “One escaped- Haxus- I couldn’t,” He coughed into his hand. When he pulled it back, it was covered in blood. Pidge still gripped onto the scythe.

“It’s okay Keith- we’re safe. We’re okay now.”

Keith looked up. 

“You’re safe?”

Lance nodded. 

At this, Keith collapsed fully onto him and passed out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for every comment you guys make- i print it out and frame it- that's how much (tears up) they mean to me
> 
> also- non of yall caught that major clue i hid in p1- like major major-
> 
> i emphasized it with syntax and EVERYTHING too!  
> tooo bad- guess yall will have to wait like 5 chapters to find out insteeaddd ;)
> 
> next chapt should be out next week!
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.letlancelive.tumblr.com/)


	8. Dreams of Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god fuck this chapter fought me tooth and nail  
> i am wounded and pissed at the writign gods
> 
> why?isn't?everything?effortless???
> 
> IMPORTANT- descriptions of blood and stuff- (first couple para)
> 
> also tell me if i need to start tagging anything

_They were right._

This Keith smirked at the thought, his huff of laughter slowly dissolving into a fitful cough. His lungs ached like a metal knife was slowly pressing and running down the insides of his ribcage. A dull weight filled in his chest, all originating from the deep hole in his side. He pressed his hand against the cut, taking small comfort in the warmth from the blood pooling around his fingers. 

The sounds of nearby traffic dulled throughout the dark cement alley. This Keith leaned against the grimy wall, his gaze resting on the flickering neon sign above him.

The red light bathed him, blending the color of the blood into his pale skin. He focused on the cursive words bolded on the sign, ignoring the consistent sharp pain of his finger digging around for the bullet.

 

Keith felt his body falling into something soft, the dark stench of the alley disappearing for a moment. Keith rested his head against the pillow. 

 

In an instant, the red neon sign returned, blinking brightly above him. The shadows lengthened once more. This Keith felt the small ball of metal buried in his side, and, with one strangled gasp, he pulled it out. A release of a sigh, a release of pain, a release of blood. This Keith collapsed to the floor, weakly putting pressure against his wounds. 

 

A small pressure against his cheek. Soft. The red light vanished. Keith leaned into the warm touch but quickly it disappeared as if it had never been there, never existed in this world. The neon glow reappeared.

 

The figure in front of him gave out gurgled choke, the blood spilling from their throat, eating their last words. This Keith didn’t bother to look up. No point. The slices had been quick and deep, they wouldn’t last. 

He kept his gaze on the red sign above him, a dizzying familiarity fogging up his brain. The light expanded, encompassing his vision until all he could see was red. 

 

Keith shot up from the bed, his breathing quickened and shaky. His hair stuck to his forehead, masked in sweat. The morning light from the window blinded him for a moment. Where was he? He moved to quickly push of the green sheets that covered him, but the white hot pain running along his chest stopped him. Keith gasped and clutching at his shirt, pausing to take a few moments to catch his breath. As his heart rate slowed, Keith examined his body, the pale skin hidden behind white bandages riddling his body.He flexed his arms, wincing as he could feel his cuts reopen. 

With more delicate motions than before, Keith slowly removed the covers and placed his feet lightly on the cold wood floors. They creaked under the sudden weight. 

The room was small, most of the space taken up by a large chemistry set. Movie posters littered the cream-colored walls, the only light coming from the window in the corner. 

On a chair next to the bed laid his clothing, all folded neatly. Keith picked up his jacket, a small sinking feeling returning after realizing that is was ripped to shreds. He traced the torn material, memories of the blades that were to blame.  
Scythes covered with his blood. His red blood, contrasting the black inky liquid that covered his own blade. He remembered ignoring the shocked expressions. No point in caring anymore, it was about self-preservation. Their screams of anger as he sliced away, compacting their souls into his blade. The crippled, blackened shells left empty without the glimmer of life.

It wasn’t like they were dead. Grim reapers couldn’t die. 

Something tugged at the edge of his mind. He was forgetting something. What was he forgetting?

Keith examined his own clothing. He was wearing dark grey sweats and a blue baseball tee. He tugged the fabric up to his nose and - oh _god_ he smelled like the actual armpits of hell. 

How long had he- fuck. How long had he been out? 

Generally, reapers were given a time limit of a day to walk through the mortal world and reap souls. Any longer than that and their bodies would begin decomposing and rotting on the spot, returning your soul back to Purgatory where it belonged. No matter what, your soul would always return to Purgatory. Death made sure of that. 

But- Keith didn’t feel sick. His skin was covered in cuts, but he could feel that they were slowly healing, not rotting. How long had he been away? Did this mean he didn’t have to go back to Purgatory? It would make things a lot easier, seeing as he would be near impossible to track down now. 

Keith tugged at his shirt. God, he smelled awful. Maybe he was rotting after all. Keith lifted the tee off his body, wincing as his muscles stretched. The shirt dropped blindly to the ground. Keith traced the large bandage covering his abdomen. It was staining red and yellow. Without much thought, Keith pressed his hand down to his side, a past memory of pain briefly resurfacing. A flash of red obstructed his vision. He ran his finger over the new cut. The bullet wound had long since disappeared with his new form, but the memory was still fresh.  
Unwillingly so.

The reaper’s curse wouldn’t let him forget it. 

 

A small noise like a balloon deflating sounded in front of him. Keith looked up, his hand still placed on the bandage. Lance was grasping firmly on the door handle, his knuckles turning white. His face was consumed in a blush. His eyes wide like saucers were permanently fixed on Keith’s bare chest. 

“Oh… um… look at that,” Lance managed to squeak out, his voice high pitched and strangled. With great difficulty, Lance ripped his eyes away Keith’s torso and smiled weakly at the grim reaper. He backed through the doorway and waved feebly back. With one final look over, Lance quickly shut the door behind him and scuttled down the hallway. 

You didn’t just- no one just- AGH! How was Lance’s gay little heart supposed to survive now? Keith was OFF LIMITS. Meaning, no matter how much he stripped down, Lance had to keep it UNDER CONTROL DAMMIT. 

God fucking- now Lance was thinking about Keith stripping. He’d probably be straddling Lance and slowly lifting up his shirt and grinding into his-

Lance bit hard onto his knuckles, looking wildly around for a bottle of bleach. 

“Pidge!” He called into the house. “I need you to-AH!” Someone placed their hand on his shoulder. He whirled around and let out another shrill noise. Keith stared back at him, worried and shirtless. 

“Lance, are you okay?… How long have I been out?” Keith looked down at his sweatpants and fidgeted the drawstring. Fuck, Keith was shirtless _and_ wearing Lance’s sweatpants. Lance let out a small whine and backed into the living room. Keith raised an eyebrow and followed.

God fucking- couldn’t he take a hint? Lance could not handle sweaty beat up conscious Keith right now- it had been a struggle to keep his cool around unconscious Keith and this was just on a whole other level. Now Keith was _staring_ at him, and _talking_ to him, and expecting him to _talk back._ Lance couldn’t handle that sort of pressure!

“Lance…” Keith’s eyes unfocused for a moment, his voice slurring. He grabbed onto Lance’s arms and steadied himself. Instantly, all sense of self-preservation dissolved and Lance quickly slipped under Keith’s arm to keep the grim reaper upright.

“Are you okay?” Lance gripped onto Keith’s waist, taking care to not press into his wound. Keith made some noise of agreement, but that wasn’t enough. “Mkay, we’re going to move to the kitchen now. Gotta get you some water.” 

Keith muttered some expletives, his feet dragging and wobbly. Lance clicked his tongue. 

“Come on,” he said quietly. “You got this. Hah, don’t want me to cradle you in my arms like last time- but I won’t hesitate if I have to-”

Keith lifted his head to look quizzically at Lance. “What?” he breathed. Lance just muttered a ‘nevermind’ as they entered the kitchen. He carefully placed Keith on a wooden chair and hurriedly rushed over to the fridge, filling up a large glass of water. Keith gladly accepted the offering, downing the glass in two gulps. Lance quickly refilled it and moved to light the stove. 

“What do you like to eat?” Lance asked, rummaging through the cabinets looking for a skillet. Keith just shrugged, still chugging the glass of water. When he stood up to refill it, Lance quickly rushed over with a flurry of ‘nonononononononononononono’s and refilled it himself, eyeing Keith to make sure he didn’t attempt to stand up again. 

Keith grunted as Lance handed him back the glass. He wasn’t completely helpless. It should be the other way around. He should be helping _Lance._ I mean, he only got a little dizzy. Lance ignored the grim reaper’s tone and opened the fridge, scanning the shelves. 

“You’re not a vegetarian- or allergic to anything-?” Lance turned around. Keith put down the glass of water and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Keith shook his head and began fiddling with the stained bandages. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll clean those soon. But, I don’t think you- should umm, shower in your ‘in and out of consciousness’ state.” Lance turned around and began gathering some packages, setting them on the table. “I mean, I guess I could help you with showering- fuck- but uuhh,” Lance shot a glance at Keith and gulped. “I- that wouldn’t be uh, I mean I would definitely- I mean, I’m all about helping and such- but that wouldn’t um… Not that’s it’s gross or anything! _You’re_ not gross- you’re really- I mean I haven’t thought about it- I definitely don’t think about you in the shower- though I’m sure you look grea-”

Keith choked on the water. “Lance,” he coughed. “I get it. I wouldn’t want to give you a sponge bath either- it’s cool.” 

Lance erupted in a nervous laugh and turned back to the pan, the sound of the butter bubbling drowned out his hyperventilating. Keith stared diligently at the glass of water in front of him, ignoring the guy cooking his meal. This was going to be harder than he originally thought. 

“Yo! Sleeping Sweaty!”

Keith looked up. A small person stood at the doorway of the kitchen, their arms grasping tightly at the mound of green sheets. “Glad you’re finally awake!” 

They waddled towards the far end of the kitchen and began shoving the blankets down a laundry shoot. Keith made an attempt to help, but as soon as he started getting out of his chair, Lance twirled around glaring, his stirring spoon held out in front of him threateningly. They maintained a fierce eye contact before Keith relented and slowly slumped back into his seat. Proud of his work, Lance turned back around, attending to the food. 

The small person, now free from their burden, walked up to the table and sat across from Keith, their legs swinging back and forth. They scrutinized Keith, their gaze unwavering as if they were trying to decode him. They stuck out their hand. 

“I’m Pidge, by the way.” 

“Keith.” They firmly grasped hands before Pidge shot their back in disgust. 

“Man, no wonder my bed sheets are soaked. Dude, you need to fucking shower or something. You reek,” they said, wiping their hand on their jeans. Keith looked down. He could feel his face heat up. 

“…sorry,” he mumbled. Immediately Lance gave out a strangled gasp and whacked the back of Pidge’s head. 

“Se bueno!” he scolded. Pidge grumbled and turned back to Keith. 

“Sorry, I mean it’s natural. You’re fine, really. You were having like, so many nightmares and were out cold for three days straight. Just- like as soon as you can, please bathe. Also, shirt.”

Lance gave out a disapproving huff but turned back towards the food nevertheless. Three days… and Keith was somehow fine… huh.

Pidge continued rubbing the back of their head, glaring at Lance’s back. 

“You’re turning into your mother.” 

“GOOD.”

Lance opened and closed the white shelves before he found the plates. He set one down at the table and began his search for the silverware. 

When was the last time Keith had eaten something? Probably Agatha’s… He had never really gotten hungry before- moving back and forth from Purgatory tended to- recharge you. You never really needed to take care of your body because you didn’t really have one. But, after saving Lance, it had set off some sort of chain reaction. Now he actually craved food. And sleep. And needed to pee and shit. Being in the mortal world for so long was starting to amplify these urges.

Among… other _urges_ as well. 

 

Lance moved over to drop the fork and knife in front of Keith. He sloppily plopped the food onto the plate. 

“I call it the ‘Just eat it’ Dish.” Lance proclaimed. It looked a little weird. It was definitely eggs… that much was obvious. But there were chunks of tomatoes and meats and the excessive spicing clouded the natural yellow of the egg. Now it looked sort of orangish black. Kinda. Keith poked at it, pulling his fork away as a string of cheese pulled back.  
“Remember the name of the dish!” Lance sang as he started putting away the supplies. “I put like eight eggs in that and you need your protein, so just eat it.”

Keith looked up a Pidge. They had no sympathy and just nodded at the meal. Keith swallowed his bile and reluctantly took a bite. 

Immediately after tasting it, Keith’s eyes widened. Without a second thought, he began shoveling the mixture of eggs into his mouth until, moments later, the meal had disappeared. It was so goood. Lance finished the cleaning up and turned around, gawking at the empty plate. 

“You- gah- Keith! You can’t eat it that quickly! You’ll probably throw up now!” Lance groaned, wiping his hands on a dish towel. 

_So… he can cook._

Keith grinned back, walking up to place his dish in the sink. He felt a lot less dizzy now, a lot happier. He smiled lazily at Lance, who was now staring back, drying his already-dry hands mindlessly. 

“You, uh, have a little- uh,” Lance stammered. He gestured towards his lip. Keith stared at Lance’s lips for a moment before taking the hint. Keith swiped at his mouth with his thumb.  
“Did I get it?”

Lance let out a shrill ‘MmmHMM’ and quickly turned his body away from Keith. Keith tilted his head. He wouldn’t dare read Lance’s mind again, but god… what going on in there? Pidge coughed, breaking the silence. 

“So, um. I hope it’s okay I told Matt about this stuff.”

Lance stiffened. “Matt? He’s the biggest gossip in- ever! Why-”

“Oh my god- Lance, chill. Besides, I had to borrow his machine for Keith’s blood samples. ALSO- there was a random dude sleeping in my room for the past three days? I needed some help when you and Hunk went home and shit.”

Lance huffed but didn’t argue. 

“Who- um, is Matt the big guy?” Keith asked after a moment of consideration. Pidge snickered. 

“No, that’s Hunk. He had a class, but he’ll be back soon. Matt’s my brother. And he’s the tiniest person you’ll ever meet.”

“RIGHT AFTER YOU, YOU GREMLIN!” someone called from the hallway. A lanky long-haired boy entered the kitchen. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on Pidge. They exchanged raspberries before collecting themselves in a more professional manner. Matt turned to Keith. 

“I’m Matt… and you’re shirtless. Okay.” Matt grabbed Keith’s hand and eagerly shook it. “Also, let me just say- I have no fucking clue how the fuck you’re alive. Very impressive. Like- what did you even do to get that banged up?”

The air stilled. They all must have been waiting a while to ask that. Lance shifted his weight, his eyes steady on Keith. 

“I sorta- killed some reapers,” Keith stated, picking at his nails. “They were going to hunt down Lance and I had to stop that before it happened.” Suddenly, Keith remembered what had been tugging at the edge of his mind since he woke up. “Haxus- fuck! I missed one! Haxus- did he attack you guys while I was out?” Keith frantically looked around the room, ready to materialize his scythe. Haxus could come out at any minute- he could have trailed Lance from the bus and was probably planning an attack right now, gathering bloodhounds and some other sick reapers. Fuck, Keith was in no shape to fight right now- fuck!

Lance lightly placed his hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith flinched at the touch, his nerves frayed and set on edge. 

“I think- Pidge killed him- or whatever,” Lance said. “She stabbed a Lucius Malfoy looking dude with his scythe.” 

“Who the fuck is Lucius Melfoy?” Keith asked, relaxing a bit. Pidge and Matt snickered at Lance’s obvious disappointment. 

“He- ah nevermind. He was a creepy looking dude with super light hair.”

Yup, that was Haxus. Keith leaned against the kitchen counter, wincing as the adrenaline dulled down, leaving him alone with his pained cuts. His mind drifted to the other reapers trapped in his blade. He’d have to release their souls soon- but he couldn’t return back to Purgatory without someone learning of his location. Maybe Shiro could- fuck. Shiro was probably worried sick. He would have no way of knowing if Keith was alive or not. Should he risk going back just to speak to Shiro?

“Hey-woah!” Matt walked up to Keith, ducking down to examine his cuts. “I never noticed that scar- fuck. That’s just like Lance’s.” 

Keith stiffened and slapped his hand to the scar on his neck. Fuck, he forgot his scarf. 

“Ow!” Lance jumped, his own hand covering his scar. He stared dumbstruck at Keith, his mouth agape. What- 

“I felt that,” Lance gasped. His gaze still locked with Keith’s, he released his hand from his neck, hesitating. Almost as if in a trance, Lance slowly pressed an index finger against the scar. Keith could feel the small touch on his own skin, yet they were standing a foot apart. How was this even possible? Keith let his own hand slide off his neck, slowly copying Lance. He touched his finger to the soft skin. Lance jolted upright. Keith had figured that the scars had been connected- just not this- it wasn’t even a link. It was just the same skin. A singular shared mark. 

“God, that’s so freaky- that’s-“ Lance paused, his eyes narrowing. “Oh my god- wait- I felt everything you felt- that- that fucKING SCARF- THIS WHOLE TIME- THAT’S WHAT’S BEEN BOTHERING ME? THAT SHITTY WOOL SCARF YOU WEAR? I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD-” Lance rushed out of the kitchen, his voice trailing down the hallway. Keith followed after, not before giving his neck a small pinch. Lance’s ranting paused for a moment. Keith could feel Lance pinch him back. He grinned, walking into Pidge’s room once more.

Lance was standing on the chair like an unbridled dark-skinned god. He held the scarf- now slowly engulfing in flames- over his head. His eyes glowed maliciously at the sight. Pidge groaned and Matt quickly ran out of the room, returning immediately with a fire blanket. He draped it over Lance’s hand and smothered the fire. Lance jumped down from the chair. After his moment of crazed rage, he walked sheepishly over to Keith.

“Sorry- well, not really. That scarf- uh, really fucked with me. Not a fan,” Lance handed Keith the remains. Keith raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t really complain- that scarf was a nuisance. Lance was probably going crazy not knowing why he was always itchy- especially on the fatal cut. But, Keith couldn’t walk around with such a visible scar. If any grim reaper saw him, he’d be killed on the spot. 

“I’ll need a replacement- I can’t walk around like this,” Keith gestured at himself, half forgetting how shirtless he was. 

Matt snickered, “Pity.” 

Pidge jabbed him in the stomach.

“I- uh, I can do that,” Lance looked down at his shoes, blushing furiously. Why was he blushing? Again, Keith was dying to read his mind. Pidge cleared their throat.

“Right. So uh, now that my room smells like dead dog _and_ burnt wool, can Keith please take a shower?”

Keith huffed and crossed his arms, “I was going to shower as soon as I woke up. It’s not my fault _Lance_ keeps stopping me-“

“I’m not stopping you! _No_ one is stopping you! By all means- stop filling the air with your stink!” Lance sputtered.

“I stink because I’ve been out for three days- what’s your excuse?” Keith scoffed. Keith stalked out of the room, smiling at Lance’s noises of annoyance. It was- actually fun to get a rise out of Lance. Huh. He began opening and closing the doors lining the hallway in hopes of finding a shower. 

He could feel someone following him. Keith whirled around, ready to insult Lance once more. The room had a sudden chill. The person walked towards him, their humanity flat and passionless. Keith used to look like that.

 

Keith remembered that moment when he changed. How he could actually feel the cold air biting him, how he sunk into the snow, how the wind dried his eyes. The first time he remembered feeling alive. 

 

The taller grim reaper pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

“Keith, goddammit. Put on a shirt. Keith- come on.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Nice to see you too, Shiro.”

Shiro moved closer to put his hand on the reaper’s shoulder, before curling up his lip and immediately retracting the gesture.  “Jesus fuck, Keith take a shower-”

Keith gave out a frustrated yell and stomped down the hallway in search for a bathroom.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment so my frail writing body can gain an extra life <3
> 
> \- whoops no cliffhanger- more like an intermission on keith's struggles on navigating the holt household
> 
> also check the updated character relationship tags ;)))
> 
> idk bout you but i feel that ship is dearly underrepresented in the klance fandom ( sorry if you hate that ship whoops )
> 
> sorry no hunk- i originally wasn't even going to have lance in this- cuz i didn't want too many people around keith as he woke up- i'll make up for it i swear- hunk will have his day- promise
> 
>  
> 
> hmu on [my tumblr](http://www.letlancelive.tumblr.com/)


	9. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so ok
> 
> i have like soooo much shit to do (trust me- i'm fucking dying rn- like pls let me REST)  
> and i def didn't have enough time to write a real chapter with  
> "plot development"  
> and "hidden clues"  
> and "humor"  
> and "corract gremmer"  
> so um  
> here's a bonding moment. 
> 
> its really short- but i honestly didn't have any time this weekend ;((
> 
> hope it doesn't suck

 

Apparently, there were two bonuses to housing a dying grim reaper:

  1. Since he was in a coma, Matt was _sure_ Keith wouldn’t miss a couple pints of blood here or there. Purely for science, of course. Nothing too weird. 
  2. And, apparently, housing a grim reaper attracted a lot of other super smoking bowls of _hell fucking yes._



Matt grinned lazily at the buff grim reaper, following the curves of his muscles and toned body. The man was seated on the leather couch, sipping mindlessly at his fruity drink. Matt followed the liquid as it swirled around the silly straw, watching helplessly as it deposited through those perfect pink lips. Matt sighed.

Pidge passed by the room, spotted their pervy brother and quickly whacked him over the head with their notebook. 

“Pidge!” Matt snapped, rubbing at his injury. “The fuck-?” Pidge raised and eyebrow and gestured towards the computer monitors, each displaying a different angle of the living room (or more importantly, a different angle of the steaming hot hot hot potato). 

“Could you be anymore of a creep?” Pidge asked. Matt shrugged. He wasn’t ashamed. Anyone who willingly walked through these walls knew that they could be monitored at any given moment by the countless hidden cameras scattered throughout the house. 

Pidge pointed directly at the frame that displayed a blown-up image of the reaper’s mouth. Matt smacked their hand away. It had taken him _ages_ to get that centered!

Okay. Maybe he was being a little… much. Pidge rolled their eyes. 

“Just go talk to him- besides, I think Lance has run out of topics and now he’s going through pi’s decimals.”

Matt groaned, slowly slumping out of the leather seat. He plodded behind his younger sibling, stiffening slightly as he heard the voices in the living room increase in volume. 

“… 5318809848102997- wait- holy fuck that’s my sister’s birthday…heheh. Anyways, as I was saying, 24248-”

“Lance!” Pidge said through gritted teeth. Lance laughed nervously, his eyes flitting between the bored Shiro and his saviors. Pidge sat down next to Lance,  subtlety tilting their head towards the oblivious reaper. Matt grinned uneasily. He held out his hand towards the man.

“H-hey there… p- pal.” 

It was at that moment, Matt died. 

The reaper clasped his hand, though Matt didn’t feel the warmth of skin or the hold of the grip. 

“Name’s Shiro, pal,” Shiro grinned back. Matt was brought back to the living just with that smile. 

“Matt. That’s my name. It’s Matt.”

“That’s a cool name.”

“Thanks. My parents picked it out.”

A crash sounded from the hallway. Lance shot up in his seat, already walking towards the bathroom. 

“I’m going to check on Keith,” Lance called back at the group. 

“Make sure to knock- he could be naked-" 

“Sorry! Can’t hear you over the sound of me walking!”

Pidge rolled their eyes. They waited for a moment and- yup. A hesitant knock sounded through the hallway. They could hear the door open and shut quickly. Shiro looked around for a table to place his drink. 

“Maybe I should help-”

Matt quickly seated next to Shiro, motioning for Pidge to get him a refill. He patted Shiro’s firm, muscular, rippling back- wait. Words. Speak Matt, Speak. 

“I’m sure Lance is taking care of everything. However, in the meantime- let me ask you this… would you mind taking off your clothes-? I’d like to see how you hide your wings.” Matt grinned slyly at the grim reaper, wiggling his eyebrows. Shiro snorted. 

“I’m not an angel- there’s a difference.”

Pidge refilled Shiro’s drink, as Matt leaned casually back into his seat. “Really?” Matt smirked. “Could’ve fooled me.” Shiro smiled, tilting his head questioningly at the man. 

At that moment, just as Matt was about to advance towards Step Two of his five-step plan of getting into Shiro’s pants, a low throaty moan emitted from the bathroom. 

Everyone froze. The room was silent. The steady ticking of the clock continued on, despite the obvious sexual tension coating the room. 

Matt cleared his throat. Nothing to worry about- just move on to Step Two. Try to forget about them and maybe that image won't be scarred into your brain till death do you part. He turned to Shiro, trying to bring back some normalcy. And wow- that dude looked really uncomfortable. 

Shiro took a steadying breath and smiled awkwardly at Matt. They both shrugged their shoulders. Psh. Sex. They could handle sex-psh- sex- besides- who even mentioned sex? Keith and Lance weren't having-

“Mmph! _Lance!_ Not so ha-a-ard.”

Shiro dropped his drink. Matt died a second time. Pidge fell into the void.

“Are they- are they fucking fucking in the fucking bathroom?” Pidge gasped in horror (funnily enough, their gasp was quickly followed by Keith’s own).

“I don’t know if I should stop this or just walk away,” Shiro said, his voice hollow. Matt stood up on shaky legs. 

“Wanna go to the patio?”

Shiro and Pidge nodded slowly, still trying to block the shared experience. 

“I’ll bring the bleach,” Pidge murmured as they quietly followed Matt out of the heated room.

 

* * *

 

“Ah! Fuck-!” Keith arched his back, whimpering under Lance’s touch. Lance cursed softly, adjusting his grip on the reaper. Keith’s cheeks were flushed pink, his breathing shallow. He glanced up at the bathroom mirror, staring at the reflection of Lance grounded behind him, the dark-skinned hands traveling up his bare chest. Lance bit his lip, gaze unfaltering from Keith. 

“Just- one-,” Lance huffed, tightening his hold. Keith squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath. He hated how pathetic he sounded, the moans and gasps tumbling out of his mouth without hesitation. He couldn’t help it. At least, not with Lance.

Lance’s hot touch burned into his skin, tracking down his back, completely unaware of how much power he had over him. Keith gave out one final whimper. Just a couple more seconds and Keith would be left gasping over the bathroom sink, completely spent. He gripped the counter, eyes locking onto the bright blue ones. Lance smirked back. Fuck- Lance was just toying with him at this point. That ass-

“Mph- _ah!”_

With one final jerk, Lance ripped off the bandage from the reaper’s back. 

Keith gasped as the dried blood and pus tore at his skin. Lance grinned at him through the mirror, proudly holding up the final stained bandage.  


“See? That wasn’t so bad!”

“Fuck you,” Keith growled. Lance chuckled and dropped the bandage in the trashcan. He opened one of the drawers and began rooting around, placing various medical supplies on the counter. 

“When your done with your shower- remember, dab, don’t rub- you can put this-” Lance held up a container “-on them and wrap them up with bandages like before.” Keith grabbed a dampened paper towel and began dabbing lightly at the flakes of blood surrounding his cut. Lance shifted his weight. 

“Do you want me to clean the one on your back?” he asked, already pouring some antibiotics on an extra towel. Keith grunted in response, still annoyed at how rough Lance had been. Lance gave him a small smile and began lightly patting the gash on his back. Keith’s breath hitched as the abrupt coldness of the towel tentatively brushed against his skin. Keith could feel a drop trail down his spine.

The bathroom light hummed through the silence, bathing the air in a strange sense of stillness. Keith nervously glanced at Lance through the mirror. Their eyes locked and Lance immediately looked down, blushing, attentively cleaning the cut. Keith couldn’t help but smirk at this. Was Lance thinking the same things he thought when he first saw Keith- or was that state of mind only spurred on by the near death experience? Lance cleared his throat. 

“So, um,” Lance kept his eyes on Keith’s cut. “Can- I ask you a personal question?” Keith raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Lance nodded, pursing his lips together. “Cococococoool. I was- just ah, wondering like, well. I mean, first, I just wanna say- you’re really cool and I like- I mean, fuck. You’re really cool. I um, I like you- like as a person- and everything...” Lance’s face turned beet red, as he gestured towards the whole of Keith. 

Keith stayed silent, rubbing the towel on his cuts. He could feel where this was going. He really didn’t want to let Lance down- but they couldn’t… Lance was nice- he would admit that- and good looking and a decent cook and it felt- it felt _great_ being around him- but they couldn’t be anything more than… soul pals. That was a good term to call this. Pals that shared souls. Nothing more, nothing less. Soul pals. Super. Great. This was fine.

“But, um,” Lance stared up at the ceiling, unable to match Keith’s eye contact. “I was just wondering- ‘cause Shiro mentioned it before, and um. Who- I mean before you died- who were you?”

Keith continued scrubbing his wounds, more forcibly than before. He didn’t miss a beat. 

“You know, you didn’t have to rip those bandages off so aggressively,” Keith said. Lance nodded, realizing he’d crossed a line. Keith focused on the white granite, ignoring the thoughts and memories that resurfaced.

A flash of neon red purged the edge of his mind. He ignored it. 

He clenched his fist and angrily wiped at his skin. Pushing down the bubbling anger, Keith tried to keep his voice light. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re a sadist,” Keith teased, but his jaw remained clenched. Lance dropped his hand entirely from Keith’s back, leaving a damp spot on his skin.Lancesnaked his arm around Keith’s waist and grabbed his wrist. Keith froze, watching Lance carefully from across the mirror. Why did he always insist on being so close? Keith tugged his wrist from Lance’s grip. 

“Dude, you gotta dab at the cut- or else they’ll reopen,” Lance paused for a moment, his expression stoic. Keith huffed at the comment. “Besides, if anyone’s a sadist- it’s you. You’re the one who watches people die for a living.” 

Keith stopped cleaning his cut. He gritted his teeth together, staring at the marble counter in front of him. He glared at Lance through the mirror. 

“I don’t enjoy it, Lance.” he snapped. Lance froze and looked up, his eyes widened. Keith dropped the towel on the counter. 

“I don’t _enjoy_ watching people die. I don’t _enjoy_ watching families die or kids die, or anyone die. I _hate_ that I have to listen to their thoughts and- and their stupid regrets and all the people they love- and…” Keith broke off. He could feel his heartbeat in his chest, his gut clench in anger. He turned around and glowered at Lance. Keith didn’t care that Lance looked sorry, that he was already tripping over his apologies, his face coated in remorse. He knew Lance didn’t know what he was saying, that he meant it as a joke. But- 

All of these feelings he had been shoving down for three months. Three months of passively watching people die. Three months of Keith, filled with his newly amplified emotions, surrounded by the grim reapers who could barely force a smile. Three months of being stuck in this cursed state. Keith curled his lip. 

“Why the fuck do you think I saved you-? You were my first fucking assignment- and I,” Keith paused, trying to control his wavering voice. “-and I couldn’t even… you were _my age_ , my first assignment and I was already watching some dumb kid my age fucking die- thinking of his _stupid_ family, and how much he loved them- and it _hurt_ \- I felt it all and it _hurt-_ ” Keith covered his face.

“Keith,” Lance whispered. Keith ignored him. 

“I hate this, Lance. I hate this so much. I want you to save everyone and protect them from the reapers- from me. I just- I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, ” Keith dissolved into repeating that same phrase over and over, only quieting when warm arms wrapped around him and he was left pressed close against Lance’s chest. Lance held him tight, whispering ‘I’m sorry’s into Keith’s hair. Keith froze at the comfort- god when was the last time someone hugged him?

Shit. That was a depressing thought. Keith squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into Lance’s hold, breathing in the scent of fresh laundry. Keith slowly lowered his hands, moving closer as they found their way around Lance’s waist. He pressed his face into Lance’s shirt. Lance sighed and dropped his head to Keith’s shoulder. 

“Keith, I’m so sorry- I didn’t- fuck,” Lance took a deep breath and paused. They stayed still for a moment, the only motion being the rise and fall of their chests pressed together.

“I never thanked you, did I?” Lance pulled back a little. Keith huffed as he was forced to lift his head and look back at Lance. And-

_oh._

“Keith, thank you. I’m sorry- I- I never really realized how difficult this all was for you- I was stupid and selfish and I’ve only been thinking about myself and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Lance swallowed. “Thank you. Really. You’re… Just, thank you.”

Keith could feel his chest tighten. He nodded, unable to articulate anything into words, and raised his hand to cup Lance’s face. He was warm. He brushed his thumb over Lance’s cheek, wiping off the small tear that rested on his face. Lance gave out an embarrassed laugh, darting his eyes away. Keith didn’t remove his hand. 

 

Imagine this. Or remember this- it’s probably already happened to you:

 

You’ve just been invited to your friend’s home. You’re excited, wondering and picturing their house and the family that inhabits it. Are they nice? Will they like you?

You walk through the small metal door, admiring the cheap porch decorations, and the overgrown lawn. You politely take off your shoes, scattering them amongst the worn sandals and boots. You smile and make niceties with the parents, giggling as your friend groans and tugs you to their corner of the home. You fall awkwardly on the carpet of their room, unsure of your boundaries and your place in this house. Something feels- off. 

You’re left uncertain. Everything is foreign to you, the furniture, the people, the customs- even the smell is strange. You were dropped on the surface of a distant planet, the hum of the air and white noise feel alien. Nothing seems right. 

You look at your friend. They are relaxed, completely unshaken by the change in scenery. Slowly, you process that this is their normal. This off-balance way of life is how they perceive the world. It feels wrong. It is wrong and your skin crawls.

A question haunts the back of your mind. 

A side of your friend has been revealed and your not sure how to take it. Now you’re comparing their life with yours, their parents with yours, their home with yours. It feels wrong, but you still wonder. Which one of us lives normally?

And no matter how set in your ways you are, no matter the comfort you steal from the familiarity, or how much ease comes from the predictability, you can’t help but feel like- there’s something wrong with the way you’ve been living.

And that dangerous train of thought begins one of the scariest processes a person can endure:

 

Change.

 

Lance leaned in. Keith closed his eyes. 

A moment of frozen fear quickly disappeared as Keith tugged Lance closer, till their foreheads rested on the other. They stayed like this, inches apart.

 

Held in an embrace, breathing the same air, supporting each other’s weight. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment if you liked it- comment if you hated it
> 
> either way i will cry wen i red the comment
> 
> btw sorry if it sucked- i'm kinda brain ded from all this shit i've had to do  
> pls kill me  
> (if you actually want to kill me- i'll send you the address,  
> just message me on my [tumblr](http://www.letlancelive.tumblr.com/))


	10. Hounds of Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hheeeyyyyy  
> sorry about the late update-  
> what can i say- my life is a disaster zone
> 
> but here's a super long chapter (long by my standards at least)
> 
> ((also, this one is my favorite so far))

Red light. 

Damn. 

Hunk drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, nervously glancing between the glowing stoplight and the bored grim reaper sitting in the passenger seat. Keith was looking out the window, absentmindedly circling the scar on his neck. Hunk chewed his lip. He hated this intersection, it took forever for the light to change. Usually, he didn’t mind it so much since he’d have someone to talk to. But, Keith was just… quiet. Hunk was generally good with talking to people and getting them to open up- but did Keith even count as ‘people’? He was a grim reaper- not human. 

Come to think of it, what did grim reapers even talk about? Death? Devouring souls? Coolest- wait… actually, that might work. 

“Soooooo…” Hunk cleared his voice. “In your unbiased opinion, what’s the coolest way to die?”

Keith glanced up, surprised at the sudden attempt at conversation. He squinted at Hunk. 

“Coolest way to die- like if I could die again, how would I want to go?” Keith asked, still unsure of how to proceed. Hunk grinned and nodded, eyes still on the road. Keith was silent, his eyebrows furrowed as he pondered the question. 

“I dunno… a cool sword fight I guess? Like, something epic… and big,” Keith said. Hunk glanced over at the grim reaper, unimpressed.   
“Seriously? Getting killed ‘cause of your crappy sword skills? That’s kinda lame- like you don’t even _win_ the fight,” Hunk scoffed, grinning as Keith made an indignant noise.  
“It’s not- I wouldn’t _lose!_ I would definitely kill the other guy! He just- he would’ve poisoned me before or something to get the upper hand!”

Hunk laughed. He was getting somewhere! They were bonding! Connection!

“Wait- why would you guys be fighting in the first place. Are you like, an assassin and he figured you out or something?”

Keith huffed and flopped back into his seat. “No, I wouldn’t be a dumb assassin. You’d just kill for money- and that’s… sick. There’s no dignity in that,” Keith quieted for a moment, glancing up at the red stoplight glaring back at him. “I’d be like, the greatest swordsman in the world. And my enemy would be jealous, so he poisoned me and got in a lucky shot or something.” Keith smiled at the thought, probably imagining the awesome battle between him and the infamous foe. Hunk wondered if it was similar to the way Keith had actually died. Probably should stay away from that subject, though. Not really small talk appropriate. 

How _had_ Keith died? He was young, so definitely not natural causes. But given the lack of information, Hunk had nothing to go off of. Keith could have gotten sick, or shot in some gang war, or maybe died of drug overdose. Hunk hoped it was nothing too bad. Hopefully, Keith had made his peace with the way he had died. 

“Kinda reminds me of those old martial arts movies. Not like Jackie Chan movies, but- like _Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon_ type deal- you know?”

Keith shook his head, “Who’s Jackie Chan?” 

Hunk gave out a strangled gasp, whipping his head to look at Keith to give him the full effect of his shock. 

“You don’t know who- _how_? He’s like- what year were you even born, dude?”

Keith rolled his eyes and turned back towards the window, still giving out a small smile. 

“I dunno- I guess it has- hey ow! Fuck!” 

Keith slapped his scar, wincing at the pain. “Why the fuck is Lance-” Keith’s words cut off abruptly. Hunk glanced over to Keith, trying to keep the stoplight in the corner of his eye. Keith was staring at his hand. It was covered in blood.  
“Keith, what’s going on?”

Keith breaths shortened as he touched the bleeding scar again, examining his now bloody hand. Hunk’s stomach flipped at the sight. He quickly forced himself to look away. Keith glanced up from his hand. 

“Run the light. Lance is in trouble.”

“What?”

Keith glared at Hunk. “Run the fucking light. Something hurt Lance. He’s in trouble.” Keith forced the words out through gritted teeth. Hunk nervously turned towards the road, gripping the steering wheel.

Right. Protect Lance. Right. 

Hunk leaned forwards, looking left and right to make sure the road was clear. Keith started unbuckling his seatbelt.  
“If you don’t fucking run the light right now, I’m-”

Hunk slammed on the gas pedal.

 

* * *

 

How was Lance supposed to focus on Pacific Islander Art Objects when literally anything else seemed more relevant? Why did he even take this class? Sure, he thought it would be easy, like going over history or just discussing the different art styles, but noooooooo. Turns out, the professor took his job ‘seriously’ and actually wanted to ‘teach’ and other bullshit like that. And all his classmates seemed to ready to go along with it. Fucked up preps. Now Lance was stuck having to memorize five hundred art objects and their stupid origin and their dumb meaning and crap like that.

Lance continued to doodle on his notepad, drawing a scythe for what seemed like the thousandth time. The professor’s words muddled out in his brain, making room for the detail and care Lance was forcing upon his drawing. 

He wondered what Keith’s scythe looked like. Did they all look the same? Was Keith’s different? How long was it? Where did they even hide a scythe? Keith didn’t really have any pockets or magic bracelets that transformed upon will, and nature’s pocket (ie asshole) wouldn’t be big enough to fit the blade. Plus, there was that whole thing about it being a giant ass knife. Lance winced at the thought. 

Now Lance was drawing a butt. Specifically a butt with a scythe coming out of it. As soon as he figured out the kinky implications to his drawing, he quickly scribbled it out and glanced over to the students nearby, making sure none of them had seen his accidental weird fetish porn. He swore the dude behind him was laughing under his breath. Lance ignored him.

Did reapers watch porn? Did reapers masturbate? Probably not. Shiro had mentioned that reapers weren’t into that whole “I-wanna-makeout-with-your-face” thing. 

But, Keith was different. That much was obvious. He wasn’t sure how big the gap between Shiro and Keith was in terms of feelings, but Keith was definitely closer towards the human side. He _did_ lean in that one time when Lance had tried to swoop in for a quick kiss- right? Right? Lance hadn’t imagined that- 

fuck.

What if he had imagined that. Fuuuck. 

A rancid smell interrupted Lance from his doubts. Lance sniffed the air for a moment- bad decision. He choked on the stink. 

Lance glared over at the kid in front of him. Would this dickwad stop farting? Lance was in direct line for the blasts and he was _not_ appreciating it. 

Lance started breathing out of his mouth, his pen stabbing the paper now. Should he move? This was getting unbearable. His nostrils had been violated and he felt sick. Whatever this kid was eating, it definitely wasn’t normal. Smelled like moldy meat and death. Like, if you could bottle rotting corpse smell, this is what it would be. He felt like the hairs in his nose were curling just from the putrid nature of it. This wasn’t fucking normal- he needed to tell that kid to go to the nurse or something. 

Lance leaned forward, ready to tap the kid on the shoulder. 

Something growled behind him, its hot stinking breath burning the nape of his neck.

 

* * *

 

Keith walked out into the patio, now wearing a new pair of sweats and navy shirt. A towel was draped around his shoulders, catching the falling water from his hair. Shiro waved him over to the group. Keith stared at the backyard for a moment, squinting at the wall of trees before walking over.

“Are you Hunk?” Keith asked, staring at the big guy seated between Shiro and Matt. The man nodded and gave the reaper a big smile. 

“Yea, and you’re the famous Keith! Nice to finally, uh, speak to you- I guess,” Hunk scratched the back of his head nervously, smiling sheepishly as Keith sat down across from them. “I mean, I’ve seen you before and stuff- ‘cause you were passed out and all. But, I’m glad you’re finally up!”

Keith nodded. After a moment of tense silence, Keith looked over his shoulder.  
“So, uh. Where’s Lance?”

Matt paused his glaring at Hunk for a moment to answer. “He had to leave for class. Hunk was gonna pick him up in twenty.”

Keith stiffened in his seat. “He left?” Keith glared at Shiro. “He’s not supposed to go anywhere alone! Not now anyway!”

Shiro gulped, glancing between Keith and Matt. “S-sorry. I got- distracted.” Keith squinted his eyes at Matt for a moment, before he gave an annoyed sneer and turned to walk back towards the door. 

“Hunk. We have to get Lance now. You can drive- right?”

Hunk scrambled out of his seat, fumbling around his pockets. “Yeah- uh- just-“ Hunk looked up and started patting the cushion he had sat on. “Gimme a sec to find the keys-!” 

Keith groaned. Shiro approached him and placed his hand on the reaper’s shoulder. 

“What?” Keith snapped. Shiro sighed and dropped his hand.  
“I have to leave soon for an assignment. We didn’t get to talk much about…” Shiro gestured back towards Hunk and Matt, both who had now removed all of the cushions from the couch. “…that.”

Keith didn’t turn to look. “I don’t see what there is to talk about. Keep Lance safe. That’s it. I can handle that.” Keith walked through the patio door once more, heading towards Pidge’s room to grab his shoes. Shiro followed. 

“You’ve been out of commission for three days.”

“Yeah, well, I’m fine now.” Shiro grabbed his shoulder, stopping Keith.

“That’s not true. You haven’t returned to Purgatory in more than seventy hours. Your wounds are still open.” Shiro sighed again. “I’m surprised you haven’t rotted yet.”

“I’m fine, Shiro. Nothing’s wrong.”

Shiro gave out a sick laugh, “Nothing’s wrong? Are you kidding me? Keith- this whole situation is wrong. No matter what, Lance is going to eventually die, you with him. You do realize that- right?” Keith jerked his shoulder away from Shiro’s grasp, ignoring the images of Lance bloodied on the fallen snow.

“Did you come here to just criticize my choices- or what?” Keith knocked on Pidge’s door, waiting. Silence. 

Keith entered the room, scanning for his shoes. Right next to his destroyed articles of clothing. Shiro watched as Keith sat on the bed to undo the laces. No socks. Seriously?

“Keith- I-“ Shiro walked over and sat on the bed next to the young grim reaper. “I’m just scared for you- I guess? I’m not sure what to make of it.” Keith paused and looked up at Shiro.

Keith remembered this. The grim reaper's shitty version of emotions. For the most part, it was just- nothing. Like your arms were made of lead and you couldn’t bring yourself to do more than what you were supposed to. Sometimes there would be dull throbbing, swirling in the depths of your stomach. Like something on the tip of your tongue, or you were forgetting some too familiar memory. You were feeling _something_ , or maybe you weren’t. It never really mattered. 

“I don’t know- do you-” Shiro paused for a moment as if the words were stuck. He began wringing his hands before looking back up at Keith. Shiro lowered his voice.

“Do you remember anything?”

Keith maintained the eye contact for a moment, his gut clenching at the thought. He looked down and shook his head, his lips pursed together.

Hunk called out from the hallway. 

“Guys! I got ‘em!”

 

* * *

 

Lance winced as something cramped in his side. He could barely think. All he could focus was the path set in front of him and the beast raging behind him. He could hear its paws tear into the soft ground, growling and snapping at him. The cold winter air bit his face, making his breathing shallow and harsh. He had to get to some sort of shelter. He had to call someone.

A small coffee shop sprouted into view. Lance didn’t have time to feel a sense of relief as the beast snarled behind him, pouncing. In the last second, Lance pushed forward, moving his foot away from the glassy teeth, wincing at the heat from its mouth. 

Lance pushed into the coffee shop, ignoring shouts of customers as he vanished into the crowd. Not bothering to look behind him, Lance moved towards one of the hallways, quickly running into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. He fumbled with his phone, nervously trying to type in the password. The monster howled from the front of the shop. Lance took a couple steadying breaths. Breathe. He typed into his phone again, desperately trying to find Hunk’s contact. He pressed call. 

Waiting was the worst part. 

The dull sound of the phone ringing on the other end. Lance leaned against the sink as the noises of the phone and his monitor blended into a sort of shrill theme song for anxiety. The harsh smell of bathroom chemical made him felt faint, he was going to faint, fuck. Fuck. 

The room spun. No. 

He pinched the cut on his neck, trying to bring himself back into focus. A new blossom of blood dribbled on his hand. The cut wasn’t deep, it didn’t burn. 

God, why did he feel so sick? The monster’s teeth hadn’t felt venomous, why did he- why did he feel

like

he was

he was

“Lance!”

Lance sat up, completely unaware of the fact that he had been slumping down to the floor. A wash of relief bathed him; there was a chance he’d make this. 

“Hunk- I’m- there’s something chasing me- I’m at the Starbucks near Mercer. You need to get here like half an hour ago.”

“We’re a minute away- can you hold your own till then?”

A minute away? Why was he coming so early? God, what fucking luck. Lance started laughing, raising his head towards the flickering fluorescent lights, sending whatever gods he could name a thousand thanks. 

“Ooohmygod dude, you don’t understand how happy that-”

Something threw its weight against the door. Lance froze. Waiting.

A deep growl rumbled as the beast slammed into the metal again.

God bless Starbucks’s armored bathroom doors. 

But how the fuck was he going to get out?

“Lance- Lance, seriously please answer!”

“S-sorry Hunk. Kinda stuck in the bathroom right now. Some dead wolf is beating the door down. Might die. Who knows,” Lance mumbled, his eyes flitting around the room, searching for some sort of weapon. He opened the cabinet below the sink, sifting through the cleaning supplies. 

Commeee onn baby bleach bleach bleach- yes!

“What? Lance, it’s Keith, what bit you?”

Lance stumbled, almost spilling the contents of the jug on the ground. Could Hunk give him a little warning next time? Jeez. 

“Dunno. Big dog. Woof woof.” The air thickened around him, he really needed to get out of there as soon as possible. Lance wasn’t going to be able to stand for much longer. Lance started climbing onto the sink, holding the jug of bleach in one hand, phone in the other. He surveyed the bathroom from his new eagle eye viewpoint. Now or never. 

“Gotta go, babe. Meet me outside. Miss you,” Lance said, eyeing the door as it wobbled on its hinges. Lance ignored Keith’s protests as he quickly hung up. He stuffed the phone into his pocket and reached with his foot to unlock the door. 

Click.

The pounding ceased. After a moment of silence, quiet, the beast began slamming into the metal once more, hungry snarls falling from its muzzle.

Lance took a deep breath. 

Come on. Just one more minute. Keep standing for just one more minute. You got this.

The door fell to the ground, smashing to the floor. The monster scrambled into the room, its nails sliding over the white tiles. The black jaws were dripping with putrid spit. Grey, sickly rotten skin tightened over the skeleton of a dog, the purple and yellow spots of death blossoming on the haunches. 

Immediately Lance poured the jug of bleach onto its head, aiming for the milky white eyes. The dog sputtered in surprise, whipping its head back and forth. It gave out a small whine of annoyance as the liquid began to corrode the soft tissue. It dipped its head down, pawing at its eyes.  
Lance jumped down from the sink, slipping slightly on the bleach-covered tiles. He raced out of the room and quickly opened the glass door, embracing the outdoors and breathing in the fresh air (and by ‘fresh air’, I mean piss-covered sidewalk. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers, right?)

Almost like movie magic, a van screeched on the road next to Lance, jumping over the bump in the sidewalk, the sliding door rolling open. Lance almost cried from relief, giving out an exasperated laugh as Hunk jokingly yelled: “Get in, bitch!”

He jumped into the backseat and collapsed into the gray fabric, letting the dim lighting overtake his senses. Lance barely registered Keith maneuvering out of his seat to crouch next to Lance. 

“Are you okay-”

The minivan shuddered. Something had hitched to the back. Sounds of metal tearing penetrated the air.  
Hunk winced.

“Reeaaally don’t like that sound, guys. What is it?”

Keith moved next to Hunk. “Hellhound. We have to kill it or it’ll chase us to the ends of the earth.” 

Hunk nodded and sped off, turning sharp on a corner in attempts to shake the Hellhound off the minivan. They could hear the beast climb to the top, the pounding feet echoing in the vehicle. Lance stared up at the spot it was currently digging at, the nails scratching at the metal surface. Lance couldn’t breathe, the air was thick with dust. The upholstery felt like it was suffocating his skin. He needed to get out. 

Keith started rolling the side door open. Lance reached out and grabbed him by his shirt, dragging him back into a sense a sanity. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

Keith struggled against Lance’s grip. “I’m going to climb on the roof and stab it.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause you can _totally_ keep your balance on a moving vehicle.” Keith glared back.  
“Oh, you got a better idea?”

“I do. We jump out, distract the mutt, get it off the roof, Hunk runs it over and you do your grim reaper magic.” Lance smirked, watching Keith flip through shock to muddled acceptance. 

“That- actually is a better idea.”

Keith flicked his wrist. A long (nice) scythe blinked into existence, the blade swirling with gray mist. He handed it to Hunk, who reluctantly grabbed the weapon and placed it on his lap. 

“This way you can see the hound!” he yelled over the screeching metal.

Hunk gave him a thumbs up. “Nice. Also, is it illegal if I start driving on a soccer field-? ‘Cause that’s what I’m gonna do.” The van bucked as the terrain changed from smooth cement to uneven grass. Lance moved out of his seat to crouch next to Keith. They bumped shoulders. 

“Ready?”

Keith was already ripping open the door and jumping out of the moving vehicle and tumbling down to the soft grass. Fuck, why was that so hot?

Lance quickly followed, wincing as he hit the ground. Kay, so that sucked a lot more than he expected it would. 

Hunk was driving away, the hellhound looked up at its distant target, pausing its scratching to watch Lance from afar. It bounded off the minivan, its feet denting deep into the frozen ground. Lance whispered a solid ‘fucking goddamit fuCK’ before running fast, Keith right behind him. 

What kind of fucking idea was this? The worst fucking idea! Who even fucking-

“THIS IDEA SUCKS!” Keith yelled behind him. Lance would’ve flipped him off if he could actually breathe. Instead, he took it as an initiative to run even faster. Come on, Hunk. Flatten this fucker already. He could hear the van speed up behind him, breaking up the ground and spewing it everywhere. 

Keith watched as Lance moved farther ahead of him, running at an impossible speed. How was he even- like, damn those legs.

A growl sounded close to his ear. Keith tensed in fear as the smell of death curled around his nose. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the beast pounding the earth right next to him. The moment of distraction slowed Keith down, allowing the hound to surpass him. 

And yet- Lance was outrunning a fucking hellhound. Was that even possible? It was coming closer, the sure ferocity and viciousness fueling it. Closing in. It tried to nip at his heels. Come on, Hunk. 

The minivan barreled past the reaper, horn kept blasting. Keith moved back, watching as Lance darted to the left. The hellhound yelped as the minivan slammed into its gray body, dragging it to the ground as it bounced over the beast. The sounds of bones crushing and strangled barks were hard to listen to. 

Keith ran to the side of the van, opening to driver’s door. Hunk quickly handed him the scythe. Keith waited as Hunk slowly backed off the crushed body of the hound, emitting groans from both the minivan and the beast. The van rumbled, dragging the body a bit before they both detached. 

Keith jogged to the beast’s side, raising the scythe over his head. With one quick practiced slice, Keith hacked at the body, slicing the skin till the small wisp of a soul raised out of the corpse, splicing neatly within the blade. 

The sounds of the park returned in full force. Cold birds chirping weakly, distant traffic, someone racing towards him.

A tall lanky person latched onto him, arms wrapped around holding, squeezing the living daylights out of Keith. Keith threw his scythe to the side and let the weight of Lance take him down. Lance yelped as they both fell to the frozen ground, both breathing hard off the adrenaline. 

They laid there for a moment in silence, Lance clinging tight, till he maneuvered a little ways away so that he could see Keith and show off his wide grin. Keith stared at Lance, still trying to process how quickly everything had moved, how fast time had seemed to speed. And now it was at a standstill. Quiet. Waiting for both of them to catch up. 

Keith gave Lance a small smile before grabbing onto his waist and pulling him back down, laughing at Lance’s surprised squawk. Lance collapsed onto Keith, both laughing softly. 

“You outran a hellhound,” Keith said, still unable to hide his smile. Luckily, Lance couldn’t see him as he was busy burying his face Keith’s neck. 

Lance gave out a small ‘mhm’. Keith pinched his back. Lance sat up once more, head raised to meet Keith. 

“How the hell did you outrun ahellhound?”

Lance smiled even wider. “I’m an unofficial member of the track team.” Keith rolled his eyes. 

“You’re a noid.”

Lance dropped his head back next to Keith’s neck. “I don’t know what you said, but I feel insulted.”

“Woah! Are you guys having a ‘ _dog_ ’ pile?” Hunk yelled from back near the van. Lance shot up immediately, muttering a flurry of ‘nononononononononononono’. They could hear Hunk bound over to them before he jumped up and slammed down. Keith could feel the sweet oxygen leave his lungs. He was going to die. 

Hunk wrapped his arms around both of them. After a couple of moments when Keith was finally able to regain his breath, he relaxed into the warmth. 

It was… nice. 

But something tugged at the back of his mind, removing him from the scene. 

If it felt so nice, then why did he feel sad?

 

“Hey guys,” Hunk whispered, breaking Keith from his thoughts. “You wanna grab a milkshake?”

 

* * *

 

“Bro, you wanna share?”

“Bro, as much as I love you, no.”

“Bro.”

“Bro.”

Keith squinted his eyes at the cuddling guys sitting across from him. Was he missing something? Lance was leaning against Hunk, scanning the milkshake flavors. Hunk had his arm around Lance and was looking at the menu over his shoulder. Keith huffed and looked down at his own menu. Whatever.

A woman walked up to them, her notepad ready to take their order. Lance immediately perked up, scooting away from Hunk to lean towards the woman. 

“Hey there, Delilah, what’s it like in New-”

The woman cut him off instantly with a groan. “If you sing that song one more time- I swear to god, Lance.”  
Lance just grinned and threw her a couple weak finger guns. She rolled her eyes and turned towards Hunk.

“Well-?”

“Right! Um, can I get uuuuhhh, chocolate peanut butter milkshake?”

“And I’ll have the usual. You,” Lance winked at the unimpressed woman. She just stared back. 

“So do you actually want to order something or-”

“Uh, yeah. Sherbert milkshake please.”

Delilah scribbled the orders down and turned towards Keith. The reaper flinched, completely forgetting that he was visible.  
“Anything for you sweet cheeks?”

Lance gaped at Delilah. As Keith stuttered out a quick ‘strawberry please’, Lance pouted and slumped back into his seat. Delilah grabbed the menus, pausing as Keith handed his.  
“I swear I’ve seen your face before- are you a model?”

Keith blushed and ducked his head muttering “no”. Delilah grinned up at Lance, proud of her work. She mouthed ‘he’s CUTE’ before walking away to the counter. Lance sneered back and turned towards Keith once more, ignoring the wave of nausea that hit him once again. 

If he hadn’t been leaning against Hunk, Lance was sure he would have collapsed at any minute. 

“Delilah _never_ flirts back,” Hunk said, laughing at his friend’s red faces. Lance grumbled under his breath about ‘dumb reaper charms’ and Keith covered his face with his hands. Hunk turned to look at Lance, noticing that his cut had reopened. He reached over to the napkin dispenser and pulled out a couple sheets. Lance grabbed one, muttering out a couple quick embarrassed thanks. Hunk slid the rest towards Keith, who was sporting the same exact cut. Keith took a moment of stopping from his wallowing to pat at his neck. 

Hunk watched them. They were like mirror images of the other. Both flushed, both bleeding, both gently wiping at their cut. He wondered if they actually did bone in the bathroom like Pidge said they did. He doubted it. Lance was too much of a romantic. Keith however, well he wasn’t sure who Keith even was. 

“So, um. Should I be worried about this-“ Lance gestured at his cut. “Like, are hellhounds venomous?” 

Keith shook his head. “No, they just hurt like a bitch.”

Hunk snorted. Did Keith just make a pun? Ooooohmygod he totally did! Before Hunk had time reveal in this newfound discovery, a woman approached their table.  
“You’re the kids who stopped the robbery- right?”

Keith rolled his eyes as Lance and Hunk smiled broadly. They began jabbering on about the night, recounting their tales of valor.Lance flexed as Hunk went through the motions, mimicking the baseball smash and the gun. The woman laughed, enjoying the over-the-top antics. Just as she was about to leave, she stared at Keith for a moment.  
“Do I know you from somewhere?”

Keith shook his head.

“You’re not a hero _too_ , are you?” She smiled, her meaning innocent. Keith looked down at the table, scratching at the grime permanently plastered to the old wood.

“No, I’m not.”

She smiled kindly, thanked Hunk and Lance once more and walked away, just in time for Delilah to swoop in deposit the milkshakes. They looked glorious. Whipped cream, red cherry, a silver cup with all the extra ice cream, just as a milkshake should be served. Keith immediately drank from the straw, fluttering his eyes closed at the taste. 

Hunk looked up just as he was about to taste the chocolate peanut buttery goodness. A group seated at the far end of the diner was staring directly at them. They were mainly middle-aged men with stained t-shirts and baseball caps. One of them was on the phone. 

Hunk shrugged, not wanting to assume the worst. They needed a break anyhow. Relax paranoia. It's milkshake time. 

“So, why was the hellhound chasing Lance anyway?” Hunk asked before enjoying his very much deserved treat. Keith opened his eyes and took one big slurp from the shake before answering. 

“I’m not really sure. Maybe one of the reapers from the bus had a hellhound I didn’t know about- hopefully, that’s what happened.”

Hunk stopped drinking his shake immediately. 

“Wait! You get to have a puppy when you become a reaper?”

Keith snorted. “That thing is no puppy. It's bred for bounty hunting.”

Hunk nodded, deep in thought. But, if they could train the hellhound to be on their side- then they would have a team dog! Like, Scooby-Doo or something. What would the gang’s name be? Spooky Studs? Death Dudes? The Creeper Reapers? Wait- no, that one was weird.

Lance leaned against Hunk once more, still silent on the topic. Keith watched them carefully.

“Hey, buddy,” Lance slurred, his eyelids drooping low. “I think… I’m getting sick.”

With that Lance collapsed to the table face first. The milkshake knocked over, splattering the orange liquid all over, dripping to the ground. Keith stood up, rushing to Lance's side. Hunk grabbed the monitor and read aloud the number. 

"Three holy fuck- three beats per minute."

Keith cupped Lance's face, examining the ashy skin. Lance was burning, his breathing shaky and his eyelids fluttering. He was caked in sweat, the veins on his neck bulging out. 

Keith whirled around. "Delilah-!"

A man stood behind him, the barrel of his gun pointed directly between his eyes. Keith's grip on Lance tightened. His gaze followed the grimy hand, trailing up the stained shirt to the man with sharp brown eyes. Surrounding him were equally filthy men, all sporting beer bellies that threatened to tear their shirts. He sneered at Keith, disregarding Lance's need for medical attention. 

He pressed the weapon right against Keith's brow. 

"Police are right on their way," the man spat out. He tilted his head, sneering at the group. "Didn't think we'd notice you was harboring a terrorist- huh?" The group of men chuckled, each pulling out a gun from their fraying jeans. 

The leader turned back to Keith and leaned closer. Keith could smell the sharp scent of tobacco on his breath. 

"World's better without you."

The man cocked his gun. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk i liked that chapter- how bout uuu
> 
> i threw in SOOOO many clues in this chapter- lol did you put anything together yet???
> 
> anyway- thanks for sticking with it, next chapter out sunday/monday (back on a regular schedule :D)
> 
> looooveee uuuuu  
> (edit: i did not mean the word 'noid' in the Korean sense, that was honestly just pure fucking accident lol)  
> also, fun game to play- replace the word scythe with dick
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.letlancelive.tumblr.com/)


	11. The Scar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blerp  
> i hate posting touchy feely chapters-  
> it feels so much more risky than action chapters
> 
> also idk what happene d but i drop kicked the grammar book out  
> of the door for this one and choose a more spoken word approach

 

Keith didn’t like his odds.

On one hand, he could easily vanish and duck out of the man’s aim. Or just attack them. However, given the hick’s excitability, someone would probably discharge a firearm. There was a chance Hunk or Lance would be hit. And Lance was definitely not in the most prime position to be shot at the moment.

On the other hand, Keith could just close his eyes and hope he’d survive. Guns couldn’t kill reapers- right? Well, they couldn’t kill normal reapers. 

Yeah, his odds were shit. 

Just as he was getting used to the cold metal pushed against his forehead, the gun lessened its pressure. Keith looked up at the man, its wrinkled red face twisted up in a scowl. He bared his stained teeth, a waft of a sour smell curled into Keith’s nose. Before Keith could move out of the way, the man spit out a juice of brown tobacco on Keith’s face. 

Although he would later admit he’d rather be assaulted with spit than bullets, Keith couldn’t help but feel that in the moment, it felt so much goddam worse. 

The brown sludge tracked down his cheek, the slime burning his nostrils with finely aged piss and stale halitosis. Keith wanted to vomit. 

He had just taken a shower not an hour ago! This was bullshit! Why bathe at all if people were just going to spit on him?

The man stood back up and smirked at Keith’s face as if he was actually proud of his multicolored saliva. 

“No point wasting a pretty bullet on you, shithead,” the man snarled. Keith glared up at him, hoping that even with the dripping chew staining his face, he kept a semblance of dignity.

A woman gave a hollow laugh behind the group of men.

“Well, aren’t you a bright one, Chester.”

The group of men turned to look at the woman behind the counter. Chester refused to turn, not wanting Keith to escape his sight. 

Delilah stared the men down, daring them. She sneered. 

“Now get the hell out of my diner.”

Chester retched in the back of his throat, still pressing the gun right against Keith’s head, “You don’t recognize him?” 

The man chuckled. Keith paled- there was- there was no chance this hick would know him. He must’ve been a baby when it happened- he couldn’t. The man coughed on Keith’s face, interrupting his racing thoughts.

“He’s the punk that tried bombing up the bus a couple days back.”

The fear he felt was immediately stuffed down with anger, more directed at himself. That- stupid stupid thing he did. God, he was just a fucking screw up. 

Delilah glanced back at Keith, studying his features. Her eyes widened for a moment before instantly returning a steely gaze on Chester. 

“I doubt it. Did you fail to notice his friends? The kids that _saved_ the diner a month ago from a gun-swinging looney?”

She arched an eyebrow at ‘gun-swinging looney’, taking her time to look pointedly at all of their guns. Chester cleared his throat, something was stuck. Keith fought the urge to grin, not wanting to give up his play. 

“And even if he was,” she continued. “I wouldn’t want you folks shaking your pistols in the air scaring my customers. Let the police handle it.”

Chester sneered at Delilah, “Ain’t a-” his voice cracked for a moment, “crime to-” Chester wheezed, one of the men slapped him on the back, muttering encouragement.

_Come ooon,_ Keith silently wished.

As soon as the first violent cough left Chester’s nasty mouth (along with a shower of brown raindrops), Keith worked purely off of instinct. His mind cleared, his vision darting to the micro lessening of Chester’s hold on the trigger. It was like a second nature, something that had been obviously practiced time and time again. His arm shot up and Keith grabbed the gun, ripping it out of Chester’s hands. He turned the weapon on its previous owner. 

Chester continued coughing, grappling for his weapon. Around him, he could hear the faint sound of a click coming from the men's guns. Keith stood up, heart racing from the shot of adrenaline. He felt shaky, unbalanced, uncertain of himself and what had just happened. But despite the small crisis blaring through his head, one thing was far more important: Lance. Keith took a steadying breath and moved away from the booth towards the entrance. The group tracked his every motion with their weapons.

Keith made eye contact with Hunk, widening his eyes in attempts to communicate. Hunk gaped at Keith for a moment, his brain still playing catch up. Keith motioned with his gun, whispering “go” before immediately turning his attention back to the gang of hicks.

Hunk nodded and slowly shimmied out of the booth, scooping up Lance in his arms. Keith waited for Hunk to walk silently behind him. He could feel the gun shaking in his hands. 

“I’m a fucking great shot-“ he could hear himself proclaim. “D-don’t even try shit.”

The door chimed. Hunk yelled out “Thanks for the milkshakes, Delilah! I’ll tip you later!” before awkwardly exiting, still gripping Lance’s unresponsive body in one arm and twisting the handle in the other.

The door shut.

Complete stillness. Keith backed up slowly, eyes unwavering from the group of men. He quickly lifted up his shirt and wiped off the remaining spit, wincing as he realized he’d ruined yet another one of Lance’s shirts. 

He kept walking backward; it felt like he’d never make it to the door. After getting a bit impatient, Keith quickly glanced behind him, gauging the distance before standing back alert towards the group of men that wanted him dead.

His heart skipped in relief as he bumped into the door. He grappled blindly for the handle. As soon as he found it, Keith opened it up and slinked out, holding the gun at the crack in the door at the last minute. As soon as he heard it click shut, Keith bolted towards the minivan, relieved to find it running and the side door wide open. Keith jumped in, yelling “Go! Go! Go!”. The door slid shut and Hunk's van screeched out of the parking lot onto the street. As they got onto the main road, Keith glanced back at the diner just in time to see the colored lights of red and blue of the police shine through.

Keith moved to the backseat where Lance was propped. 

“How’s he doing? Do you know what’s wrong?” Hunk called from the front. 

Lance’s breathing came out in gasps like something was constricting the windpipe. He was caked in sweat, shuddering at some internal pain. Keith unzipped Lance’s jacket, searching for some sort of cut from a reaper’s blade. As Keith maneuvered off the jacket, Lance’s body slumped in submission, almost as if he was already dead. 

Keith’s breath caught in his throat. Lance’s arms were pale to the point of transparency. He could see the small blue veins riding up his arms. Keith winced as he trailed the veins, feeling the faint slush of blood beneath his fingertips. 

It was from this Keith knew, Lance was dying. Or more specifically, his body thought it was already dead.

And it was all Keith’s fault. 

Lance groaned, mumbled words tumbling out of his mouth.

“Lance, I’m going to leave you for a short while,” Keith whispered. “Don’t do anything stupid.” Lance didn’t say anything in response, just gasped for breath. Keith picked Lance’s hoodie from the ground and put it on, hoping it’d be enough to cover the scar. He turned to Hunk. 

“If Lance is going to survive this, which he _will,”_ Keith said, the last part to himself, “I have to leave for a day. Where’s someplace at least fifty miles away from Lance’s house?”

Hunk glanced nervously back at Keith through the mirror. “Um, uh- fuck. Um, there’s the Space Mall about an hour away?”

“Name a specific store, Hunk.”

“Uuuuh, Eternally Legal Drinking Age.”

“…right. At this exact time tomorrow meet me there at the front of the store.” Keith pulled the hood up and moved towards the door. “Lance should be fine. Just- please meet me there tomorrow. And bring Pidge’s scythe.”

Hunk nodded, but he was thoroughly confused. What the fuck was going on? Why did Keith have to leave? Was something happening to Lance because of their proximity?

Without warning, Keith slid the door open.

Hunk swerved in surprise, “What the fuck- Keith!” 

The grim reaper paused before the opening, watching the ground pass by in a blur of gray. 

“If Lance- doesn’t get better within the hour,” Keith shouted out over the noise of traffic. He looked back at the sick man. Lance was shivering in his seat. “Pinch his scar and I’ll come back.”

And with that, Keith jumped out of the moving car. 

Hunk screamed out in annoyance. That duMBASS-! Why-! Was he always like that?! Let him park for christ’s sake! No need to be dramatic when safety’s an option!

Hunk quickly pulled over to the side of the road and got out of the car.

The vehicles shot by, a distraction of red, silver, and blues sparkling against the dull pavement. Hunk scanned the area, searching for a dumbass in a green jacket trying to not get hit. 

Keith was nowhere to be found.

 

* * *

 

The sad thing was, that for bursts of a moment, Lance could feel and hear everything.

He could feel his body being carried, the cold winter air biting his skin- fuck where was his jacket? He could hear Hunk muttering a string of curses as Lance’s body refuse to breathe. His lungs collapsing in his chest, his hands hanging in the air, lost of life. 

And then it would all blur out again. He’d fall back into the black inkiness and just- not exist.

He’d regain consciousness, blinding panic coursing through because he was certain that for a moment he died. And this time, there would be no one to guide him. 

He could feel a cold towel pressed against his forehead, his mother murmuring soft wishes and prayer. He tried speaking but what’s the use of speaking if you couldn’t breathe?

His limbs felt like burnt pages, crumbling at every movement. 

He was dying. 

His chest burned, struggling for breath

He was dying

he was dying

he was dying he

“Lance!”

Lance sat up in his bed, gasping for air, coughing as it filled his lungs. He kept trying to gasp in the air, clutching his sheets trying to breathe. His eyes were blurring with tears. Someone hushed him, stroking his hair. The touch startled him. It was too much. He pushed them away, sitting up and burying his face into his knees. 

In the darkness of his own, Lance took a second to breathe in the air, smelling his sweat and panic. Taking moments to think to himself, convince himself, that he was alive.

“Lance,” his mother’s voice was quiet, right next to him. He could feel her place a hesitant hand on the bed. Lance took a long breath then looked up. The room was bright, too bright. 

Lance ducked his head back down to his knees. 

“Could you turn off the lights?” Lance croaked out, his throat dry. She asked him to repeat himself. Lance took a deep breath and tried to be louder, his throat burning. After a moment, he could hear her stand up. Something clicked, dulling the bright corners of his vision. Lance slowly raised up his head, the outlines of his mother illuminated by the lamp on his desk. She gave him a small smile. 

“Lance, how do you feel?”

“Bad.”

She nodded, coming over to sit back on the edge of the bed. “But you’re alive, mijito. That’s what matters.”

Lance lowered his head back into his knees, the tightness in his gut returning. His mother clicked her tongue.

“How about a nice bath and some tea?”

Lance nodded, not wanting to speak. 

His mother walked out of the room and left Lance alone.

 

* * *

 

Keith stabbed the scythe to the ground, watching as the souls trapped in the blade swirled around, moving faster and faster. One by one the souls dripped out, curling in the air, misting over the vast plains of gray desert.

Keith sat on the ground and looked up at the sunless sky. Only twenty-three more hours to go. Yay. 

His cuts had fully healed, the bandages Keith had so carefully wrapped now completely useless. He looked down at the stolen jacket, pulling absentmindedly at a loose thread. 

This was Lance’s jacket. _Lance_ wore this jacket. 

Fuck- everything Keith was wearing was Lance’s, besides the shoes. The combat boots were all Keith. 

Lance would be probably pissed when he gave back the jacket. It probably smelled like Purgatory and Keith now. Nothing like the scent it had previously. 

Keith leaned back into the dirt, closing his eyes. Something in the jacket rested on his stomach, flat and heavy. 

He reached into the pocket and pulled out a phone. Keith examined smooth edges and the reflection glinting off the glass. He pressed the button, eyes widening at the bright blue light. 

The background showed the image of a cartoon man with tall blond Elvis hair, sunglasses, and a black shirt. The caption read, “It’s a beautiful day.” It didn’t make sense to Keith, but it still wasn’t more perplexing than as to why he still had a signal in the underworld. Four bars. He slid to unlock the phone. It asked for a password. 

Keith flipped over to his belly, giving this his full undivided attention. He typed in ‘1234’. 

Wrong password. 

He typed in ‘4321’. 

Wrong password. 

‘0000’

Wrong password. 

What was Lance’s birthday?

Keith thought for a moment, scratching his finger into the hard dirt ground. Fuck, he didn’t know anything about Lance, at all. Other than the fact that he loved that one song, with the high pitched vocals, had friends named Hunk, Pidge, and Matt, liked Sherbert milkshakes and went to college. 

Also, he thought Keith was pretty. Or, at least he originally did. Lance probably didn’t have that great of an opinion now, seeing as Keith kept having to leave him. 

He probably hated Keith. 

Keith dropped his head to the ground and tried typing in more combinations. 

‘5555’

Wrong password. Keith groaned. Why was Lance so protective over his stuff? Didn’t he trust people anymore? Why was he so secretive? 

…What if Lance had something serious on his phone- like a diary… or a photo. 

‘1111’

The phone unlocked. The background showed the same blond man now looking at the camera, grinning. The caption read “But not as beautiful as me.” Keith still didn’t get it. Did Lance have a crush on this cartoon character? Nevertheless, of course Lance would have an easy password. Lance didn’t have anything to hide! Nope. 

But just to make sure, Keith opened the photos. It took a few tries at first since he had never used one of these phones. But, after accidentally opening seven different versions of solitaire, he finally figured out that the icon carefully labeled ‘Photos’ was the photos app. 

The first thing opened was a screenshot of Hunk making a horrible face. In the corner was a smaller window of Lance making a similar horrible face. Video chat. Keith almost snorted, zooming in on Lance’s scrunched up face and comparing to Hunks. 

Keith swiped to the next picture. It was the same video chat, Hunk and Lance still making new grotesque faces at each other. 

Keith swiped again- video chat. 

It took him about four tries before something new popped up. It was a picture of the sunset. Keith stared at the sky, the light baby blue highlighted by the pinks in the clouds. They mixed into a deep orange and blinding yellow at the horizon, dipping behind the silhouette images of trees. Keith stared, positioning himself to lay on his back. He held the phone up against the gray sky. For just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine he was sitting there under that colorful sunset. Keith smiled at the thought, feeling the soft grass beneath him, a person lying next to him, the sounds of evening warm and soothing. Keith was somewhere else, a different, brighter, more normal world.

But when he opened his eyes, Keith was still stuck in the vast gray desert. Alone. 

Keith swiped the screen. 

It was a selfie of Lance, completely shirtless taking a picture of the bathroom mirror. Keith swallowed, glancing up from the screen, looking around the surrounding area before reassuring himself that no one was spying on him. Why did he feel so guilty? It was just a normal picture of Lance. Right after a shower. Really steamy. Hot. The droplets of water clinging to his hair, running down his chest and shoulders, god he was so wet. The sharp v marked right at his hips, framing the trail of hair-

The phone dropped on his face. Keith out a small shriek as Lance’s smirk attacked him. He fumbled with the phone for a moment before quickly exiting out of the photos app. 

Keith took a couple deep breaths, surprised at his own reaction to the photo. His face felt warm- scratch that- his entire person was warm and buzzing. His chest felt tight and his abdomen was fluttering. Keith was still getting used to all the random urges of having a somewhat functioning body again, but this was getting ridiculous. 

Keith really needed a distraction. He needed to stop thinking about Lance.

 

Something brushed the inside of the reaper’s collar. 

 

Keith bolted up, grabbing the scythe in defense. He whirled around, ready to fight. No one was around him. He was still alone. 

It happened again. He could distinctly feel two fingers brush against his neck. Keith tensed, realizing the source. 

Keith slowly sat back down muttering a small “so much for not thinking about Lance” before pressing gently against the scar. Lance wasn’t pinching his scar, but Keith was still unsure of what Lance was doing. Was he in danger? Had reapers somehow found him again?

Lance tapped twice back. Keith copied. 

Lance didn’t do anything now. Keith didn’t know how to proceed. So Lance was there- on the other side- thinking about Keith. Or maybe he just brushed his scar on accident and the reaper was being a creep. 

Keith swallowed, his hand still poised over the scar. He rested his fingers on the cut. Out of habit, he began making small circles on the soft tissue, tracing the jagged edges.

He could feel Lance press softly back, touching the places Keith had been. Keith paused right above the collarbone, at the edge of the scar. Lance stayed at the same spot, dully tapping at the cut. Keith smiled and tapped at the top of the skin. After a pause, Lance traced up the skin to Keith, lazily taking his time, baiting him. Keith ignored how it made his body buzz, how tight his chest felt and opted to pinch Lance. 

Lance poked him back. 

Keith could practically feel Lance's annoyed amusement. Keith laughed to himself as Lance kept tapping at the same spot, almost chiding him. Lance paused his tapping for a moment. 

Keith laid on the ground and placed the back of his hand against the scar, soothing it with his index finger. 

He could feel Lance run his fingers over the scars edges before resting against the soft skin. The reaper wondered if Lance was imagining Keith with him. 

And with that, he thought about Lance laying next to him, his soft hands brushing over the scar, lightly caressing the skin. The heat of another living person, leaning against his own. Keith closed his eyes and relaxed into Lance's touch.

He failed to notice the being approaching rapidly from a distance. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wel that was a dif ending then hte last  
> writing this fanfiction has solidified my confidence in my choice of major like nothing else  
> #when film students try to write -__-
> 
> anyway comment cuz i honestly can't tell if that was good
> 
> Also i randomly made a Completely 100% Serious [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL7rlQKHcHQ9DbU2ITh0u0FwOU_eQHbIN2) for this  
> yeah i was procrastinatig a lil
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.letlancelive.tumblr.com/)


	12. Skulls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (WARING: THIS IS THE APRIL FOOLS CHAPTER)  
> (people liked it so i kept it lol)

“Hunk, gimme your phone.”

Hunk glared at Lance through the rearview mirror, “After last time? Funny.” 

Lance slumped back into the seat, pouting as he looked out the window. The highway shot by in a blur, the cars easily passing Hunk’s conservative 60mph. Lance kicked the seat in front of him. 

“Pidge, gimme your phone.”

The small clicking of keys paused, “Why? I don’t have any games on it.” 

Lance scooted forwards so he could drop his head against Pidge’s headrest. “I wanna see how Keith is doing.”

“Oh?” Pidge closed their laptop and turned to look at Lance, a shit-eating grin plastered on their face. Lance gulped. Fuck. 

“Interesting… would you care to expand on that?”

Lance quickly looked away, “…no. I mean, uh, yes! Um, we’re picking him up soon so I just wanna make sure he’s like, cool and everything and uh, I mean, not like I’m worried- he’s probably fine, I don’t _care,_ psh whatever uh-“

Pidge held up a finger, silencing him. They wordlessly typed in the password and held out the small device. Lance grabbed it, pausing only when Pidge didn’t release their grip. 

“Delete your nudes after sending.”

Lance made a strangled gasp, almost dropping the phone as Pidge turned back to their computer. Hunk snickered under his breath. Lance’s nostrils flared as he quickly curled back into his seat, opening the messaging app. For a brief second, he wondered about the logistics of sending nudes in a public area. A dick pic would honestly be the easiest, but that was uncomfortable to open with. All of the foreplay would just be too difficult to take casually. But, a well-placed jacket and camera flash could go pretty far.

[ ](http://s1160.photobucket.com/user/6745T/media/IMG_0681%20copy_zpsgewkhu3f.png.html)

Lance stared at the screen, biting his lip. Should he have opened with a joke? Was the smiley too much? Fuck, he was going too fast too soon, Keith was probably weirded out by him and they would never be friends, let alone-

The gray typing bubble popped up. 

Lance shrieked, fumbling with Pidge’s phone as it slipped out of his grasp. He watched with bated breath as the three dots continued to mock him. Did it usually take a person to type this long? What was taking Keith so long? Fuck- there was a word for this sort of situation- what was it?

Oh right: hell.

The bubble disappeared. 

A small tear tracked down Lance’s face. 

The bubble reappeared. 

 

[ ](http://s1160.photobucket.com/user/6745T/media/IMG_0681_zpsrfqlozcv.png.html)

Lance quickly slapped his hand over his mouth, trying to hide his grin. Ohhhh my goooood, this boy was going to be the death of him. He quickly typed a reply, biting his lip. 

 

[ ](http://s1160.photobucket.com/user/6745T/media/IMG_0682%202_zpsjeeyecez.png.html)

[ ](http://s1160.photobucket.com/user/6745T/media/IMG_0683_zpsgglrkutu.png.html)

Fuuuckk, how did he make a fucking skull emoji so cute? 

 

Lance choked on his spit. Fuck, he had forgot completely all about that, and all the stupid shit he thought during it. Fuckfuckfuck. 

[ ](http://s1160.photobucket.com/user/6745T/media/IMG_0686_zpswtsa6esn.png.html)

And now he had hurt Keith's feelings. Smooth move, Casanova. 

[ ](http://s1160.photobucket.com/user/6745T/media/IMG_0687_zpsuvuhdsmk.png.html)

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the final resting spot of Lance Sanchez. He lived a long and prosperous life. He died crying in the backseat of a minivan.

[ ](http://s1160.photobucket.com/user/6745T/media/IMG_0688_zpsfbzcvkte.png.html)

Keith sent a picture. More specifically THE picture. The one where Lance had felt particularly good about himself and decided that his shower slick body was the best way to represent that. 

Fuck. 

Keith liked that?

[ ](http://s1160.photobucket.com/user/6745T/media/IMG_0690_zpsqkm1bdp0.png.html)

WHAT THE FUCK

MAYDAY

MAYDAY

....what the hell did that mean. 

[ ](http://s1160.photobucket.com/user/6745T/media/IMG_0693_zpshsvpokv3.png.html)

Lance could feel his jeans become incredibly tight. Was he sweating- yes he was sweating. Soon to be hyperventilating if Keith kept this up. 

Lance started hyperventilating. 

[ ](http://s1160.photobucket.com/user/6745T/media/IMG_0699_zps4v3x4q0h.png.html)

 

Pidge snatched the phone back before Lance could see Keith's response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHA APRIL FOOLS  
> (surprise, the real joke is that i posted it on april 2nd)  
> (sorrry if u hate me whoops)
> 
> also new REAL chapter tomorrowish
> 
> ((in case you couldn't tell, none of this actually happened, i just wanted an excuse to write them texting each other but it didn't fit with the story))


	13. Red Lipstick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mwhahahahahah
> 
>  
> 
> also i honestly have nothing against forever 21 i swear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by the beautiful [koi <3333](https://kyoshu-koi.tumblr.com/)
> 
> w/out her this chap would still be in the drafts lol  
> so show her some love <3
> 
> this chapter is so shiny and clean wowowowow

The brightly lit store was littered with like a pastel junkyard, mountains of sparkly clothing glinting under the fluorescents. Groups of teenagers wandered through the small aisles, completely unaware of the store’s second nature. On a good day, Eternally Legal Drinking Age was merely the result of a hard working sweat shop. On a bad day, the clothing store served as a portal between the mortal world and purgatory, releasing creatures beyond our imagining.

Today was a bad day.

A _very_ bad day.

Pidge rifled through the messy rows of clothing, curling their lip at the disorganization. Their scythe was casually leaning against a dolled up mannequin, completely invisible.

“Why does it always look like a glittery tornado hit this place?” They gestured towards the many piles of clothing.

Hunk smiled faintly. He kept his eyes on the milling crowd of people, his superior height making is easier to search for a certain mop of black hair.

It was exactly 5:32 pm. Keith had left roughly at 5:19 yesterday.

Hunk thought back to the urgency in Keith’s voice when he practically begged Hunk to be on time. And here Hunk was, doing just that. He was holding up his end.

So where was Keith?

Something was off.

Pidge held up a leather jacket. Belts and loops decorated it, and silver studs were glued to the shoulders. It was fairly cute, though once Pidge flipped it over to the back, they grimaced.

“Fresh to Death” was scripted on the jacket in pink sequins.

Pidge snickered. “Dude, what if I got this for Keith?”

Hunk finally turned to look, his face blank as he read the inscription. Immediately he broke out into laughter, images of emo brooding Keith wearing the glittery jacket flooding his mind.

Pidge smiled and put the atrocity back on the rack.

Hunk composed himself, suddenly standing straight, attempting to pretend to be serious. “I don’t know. Keith is already getting _one_ gift today. We don’t want to spoil him.”

“Oh yeah,” Pidge snorted. “He can’t have _too_ many _‘_ totally platonic friendship gifts’.”

Hunk smirked, his mind wandering back to the long car ride with Lance. The poor guy had failed to hide the sound of his knitting needles clicking, and as punishment was harassed for the rest of the drive.

 

 

“SoOOooOoOOoOo,” Pidge had sung. “Who’s the scarf foOoOOr?”

Lance had mumbled incoherently, still clicking away furiously with his needles.

“SooOOOOoOOOo, Pidge,” Hunk had picked up. “Anyone we know who _neEEEeEEEds_ a scarf?”

“Gee, now that I think of it,” Pidge had laughed. “There is this particular grim reaper who is in dire need.”

“Oh really?” Hunk had looked over at Lance through the mirror. “How convenient. And here our dear Lance is, knitting away making a scarf full of Love.”

“IT’S NOT MADE WITH LOVE!” Lance had sputtered.

Both of his friends had grinned evilly back, emitting a high pitched “Ooohhh???”

“Dear Lance, pray tell,” Pidge had continued. “What is that wonderful scarf made out of?”

“BEGRUDGING PLATONIC RESPECT!”

Hunk had snickered, “Is the platonic part begrudging or the respect?”

Lance didn’t answer. Instead, he had continued clicking away, ignoring his tormentors.

 

 

Pidge turned back to Hunk, now fully out of way to entertain themselves.

“Where is he anyway?” they said, straining to see above the messy rows of clothing. “You said nineteen, right?”

Hunk nodded vaguely. Pidge glanced at their phone and frowned, noting the time.

5:36 pm

“… What do we do if he doesn’t show?” Hunk asked anxiously. Pidge didn’t answer.

Lance and Keith had this sort of ...bonded relationship? As far as they knew, if one of them died, the other was screwed. So, if Keith was in some serious shit, did that mean Lance was-

“Pidge, can you quick text Lance? Make sure he’s good?”

“Doesn’t Keith have his phone?” They said, already pulling the device out of their pocket.

Hunk nodded. “I gave Lance mine before we left.”

Pidge quickly typed something on their phone, and in an instant, it buzzed in reply. They smiled faintly. “Yeah, he’s good. Little pissy we left him in the car, though.”

Hunk rolled his eyes. “He was literally dying yesterday! He’s not strong enough to start beating up grim reapers!“

“I knoooow,” Pidge said, quickly stuffing their still vibrating phone in their pocket. They turned towards the mannequin, groping blindly for the scythe. As soon as they made contact with the polished wood, their breath hitched, adjusting to the new view. The pastels became brighter, the glitter strewn about practically blinding Pidge. The small person squinted their eyes. Fuck this store.

“Okay, I’m done waiting,” they said. “We’ve been here since five and I don’t know where the hell he is.”

Hunk twirled around to look at them. “We can’t just leave him; they’re connected! If Keith gets hurt, so does-”

“I’m not saying that,” Pidge interrupted. “I’m saying let’s find him. Shiro mentioned purgatory-“

“WHAT?! Purgatory? We - how - whAT?!”

“It’s just purgatory,” Pidge smirked, passing the scythe from hand to hand. “I was thinking... if we can find out how they travel, explore purgatory a little ourselves, we can figure this whole mess out and-“

“Pidge, what the FUCK.” Hunk bit his lip and wrung his hands at the thought. Purgatory? What the fuck? Didn’t vampires live there or something? TheY WOULD BE KILLED-

“Does Keith _honestly_ seem like the type of person that knows what he’s doing?”

“NO!” Hunk protested, “BUT-”

“Hunk!” Pidge snapped, “Keith and Lance are too busy making goo-goo eyes and trying not to die! It’s up to us!”

“I’M TRYING NOT TO DIE AS WELL!”

Pidge groaned and rolled their eyes. “Hunk, seriously. If we get all the facts straight and really put our minds to it-“

“What are you even talking about?!”

Pidge jabbed Hunk with the butt end of their scythe. “Listen! It’s all biological! You remember when we sampled Keith and Lance’s blood?”

Hunk nodded.

“There’s literally no difference between them. It’s the weirdest thing. I don’t know how... maybe they have the same heart? I’m not sure, but it just shows that this isn’t just some random mystical occurrence. It has quantifiable aspects! Maybe we can figure out how to end this stupid thing, or at least have it so Lance isn’t dying every other second...”

Pidge trailed off, their grip on the scythe tightening.

Hunk bit his lip. “That’s not a bad idea. But what does that have to do with exploring purgatory?”

“Think about it. Just because Keith did something stupid, doesn’t mean he’s the first to do it. People do stupid stuff all the time! Humans are idiots! Some other grim reaper must’ve done this before, maybe if we can find them-”

“What? On Facebook or something? Pidge, _I_ can’t even see these people. How the hell are we supposed to find them?”

“That’s why we have to go to purgatory!”

“We need more facts first. As soon as Keith comes, we’re sitting him down and getting this straight.”

“ _If_ he comes-”

“Fuck, Pidge, don’t say that.” Hunk’s groaned. They were absolutely fucked if Keith didn’t show up. Lance’s chance of survival would drop dramatically, and, fuck, he didn’t want to think about that.

Pidge kicked at an article of clothing, biting their lip. “I’m sorry. It’s just, this is so _fucked_.”

Hunk nodded.

Pidge glared at the floor, their eyebrows furrowed together, nostrils flaring. “I just, I feel so…”

“I know,” Hunk said quietly, trying to ignore the memories of Lance, barely breathing, dying in his friend’s arms.

 

 

i'mdead i’mdead i’mdead i’m

“Shhh… no, you aren’t,” Hunk whispered back.

Lance continued to croak out the same phrase, holding onto the words like they were his only truth.

Lance moaned, his teeth clenched together in pain. He struggled against Hunk’s grip, desperately grappling at the man’s clothing.  Lance cried about his family, cried about his friends. He cried about the pain. Hunk hushed him and continued to walk towards the porch, carrying the deathly pale man in his arms.  


 

“I just, I don’t ever want…” Pidge forced out the words, their jaw clenched in anger. “Lance doesn’t-”

Hunk swallowed his own pain. “If… Pidge, he saved Lance’s life-”

Pidge glared at Hunk. “We don’t know what the fuck he did! We don’t know anything!” Pidge shouted, the ferocity forcing out their words. “He fucking killed someone! Who knows what he did to Lance! He barely remembers that night, Keith could’ve-”

Someone coughed behind them.

Hunk whirled around, remembering that they were in fact in a public space. A teenage employee smiled uneasily, shifting her weight. Hunk gave her his best _‘I Don’t Associate With Murderers’_ smile, trying to deter a possible second run in with the cops.

“Can I uh, help you guys find anything?” she asked.

Pidge raised an eyebrow at the girl, annoyed with the interruption.

“Nope! Nothing! Just browsing!” Hunk sputtered out, grinning like a maniac. The girl looked back and forth between the two, her forced smile faltering. Her stiff expression read out _‘Please don’t shoot up the place, I_ really _don’t want to die in this store.’_

It was due to this temporary distraction that Hunk and Pidge didn’t notice the sudden silence. All soft laughter, the scrapes of hangers sliding against the racks, the muffled voices customers died out. Quick. Sudden. Click.

Gone.

The store had become a small void, empty of life.

And just as rapidly as the silence engulfed the store, it was ripped away, killed with one piercing scream.

The employee whirled around staring at the stream of customers running towards the exit in fear. The employee turned to look at Pidge and Hunk, terror coating her face.

“Run,” Pidge growled, motioning with her head. The employee nodded and soon raced after the mob of people.  
“There he is!” Hunk pointed excitedly at the far end of the store, directly at a black mullet sprouting from the racks of clothing. “He’s... oh are you fucking-”

At least Keith was alive. That’s the important part.

However, at that current moment, he was battling a creature far too large and terrifying for its own good.

The monster was suspended in the air, beating its immense leathery wings. Its humanoid shape was mutated with black slick skin, tight and stretched over its sinewy muscles. The eyes were small and embedded deep into the skull, their impact dwarfed by the many glinting yellowed teeth.

It raised its clawed hand and captured Keith in its gnarled grip. The grim reaper struggled against the hold, managing to free the hand that held his scythe. With one solid stab, the beast screamed in anguish and tossed Keith through the store.

Ascending from the pastel pinks and blues like a god from the great beyond, Keith soared through the air. He screamed and flailed about like a wimp.

Hunk started panicking and scrambling, holding his arms out in front of him, running back and forth to catch the grim reaper. Pidge leaned on their scythe, watching lazily as Keith made an arch in the air, heading right towards them.

Despite Hunk’s frantic attempts, Keith fell straight into the rack of clothing next to Pidge, tangled in the mess of pastels and hangers. Hunk ran to the reaper’s side, pulling him up and out of the clingy cotton.

Keith moaned and rubbed his head, wincing in pain. A hanger carrying a pink lacy lingerie was stuck around his neck. Keith looked down at the sexy underwear and grimaced. As he was trying to rip it off, the creature screeched in the distance. Keith looked up.

“We gotta fucking GO!” Keith yelled. He tugged at Hunk’s sleeve, urging him to move, but the man was too busy staring at the creature before him.

In their nervousness, Pidge’s grip on the scythe faltered. It fell to the ground,  a sharp clinking echoing as the blade made contact with the tiles. Instantly, the monster turned its sharp glare on the small group. It smiled wickedly, exposing rows of red stained teeth, bloodied gums framing it like lipstick.

Keith quickly picked up the scythe and shoved it into Pidge’s hands.

“LET’S GO! NOW!” He shouted. Hunk was still frozen in place, petrified. Keith jumped up and slapped him. The sharp sting broke the spell. Hunk screamed.

“WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHTAT THFHAJLKSDFALFS!” Hunk’s clamors soon devolved into unintelligible babble, tears streaking down his face. The monster beat its wings and dived towards the group, an unholy cry screeching out of its unhinged jaw.

The group raced out of the store, pushing past the screaming pedestrians and wailing employees.

Surprisingly enough, the Space Mall’s polished tiles were not the best floor to be running from demons on. In fact, one might argue it was not at all suitable for _any_ life or death situation. All you shoplifters out there understand this perfectly.

Also, all you shoplifters: stop shoplifting and get your adrenaline high from eating cake in the park like the rest of us.

Hunk had tears rolling off the side of his face as the air-conditioning whipped against his face. Pidge was finding difficulty in running whilst carrying a scythe larger than them. Keith simply wanted to not die. Again.

Their mind filtered out every coherent thought to make room for the bolded text racing through their head like an infomercial, letters simply reading: **RUN**.

They were all too distracted by the beast’s howls to ask Keith the real questions, such as:

 

“Hey Keith, what happened here, buddy?”

“Hey pal, what the heck is that thing?”

“Hey friend, what the fuck?”

 

There’s no point listing out Keith’s questions, seeing as they’re already far too obvious.

“WHERE’S LANCE?” Keith yelled as they skidded at a crossroad. They looked between the elevator and escalator.

Elevator or escalator.

Elevator or-

The beast roared, approaching fast.

Pidge made the executive decision and jumped through the crowded stairs, darting in between the shopping bags and strollers. Keith and Hunk quickly followed.

“MINIVAN!” Pidge shouted back at him. The beast howled in frustration, losing sight of its prey.

They jumped off the stairs and made their way skidding down the walkway to the exit.

They were right there: the doors to their freedom, centered in front, bathing them in midday sunlight. Their excited whoops were quickly drowned out by the beast’s roars as it landed heavily right in front of them, blocking their escape. The thing grinned at Keith, lowering down on its haunches to face him, its stare far too intelligent and knowing. It swiped a large clawed hand at the reaper, barely missing the target by a few inches.  In desperation, Keith held out his scythe in front of him, whipping it left and right.

The beast snarled, eyeing the blade still dripping with its inky blood.

It sauntered closer, growling as the group continued to back away. The claws clicked on the tiles.

The creature hissed at Keith, drawing closer and closer. With one sharp movement, it darted forward and snapped its jaws, the teeth clacking together. Keith jumped back slashing with his scythe. He missed.

A small rumble purred from its chest as if it was laughing at Keith’s attempts. The group crammed closer together, huddling for safety.  The beast’s thin lips curled into a sort of smirk, exposing the blood-red gums.

“Whheeeerreeeee iiiissssssss hhhheeeeeeee?” the beast crooned, a soft lisp coating its words. The voice sounded filtered, forced to pass the rows of sharpened teeth, all crowded together. Keith snarled back, hoping that the beast wouldn’t pick up on his shaking frame.

Hunk gulped and did the dumbest thing he could think of.

“IT’S ME! I’M HIM! COME AND GET ME, BALDY!” Hunk ran away from the group. The beast whipped its head after Hunk, growling. With one sharp jerk, it snapped at Hunk. Hunk could feel the heat of its breath right against his back.

Fuck. If only he _was_ Lance he might actually be able to outrun this asshat.

As soon as Hunk had gotten its attention, Keith and Pidge both raced towards the creature’s left leg and slashed at the skin with the silver blades, black ooze pouring from the wounds. The creature howled in pain, quickly whipping its head towards the two people. It snapped at them.

Keith was able to jump away in time, but Pidge apparently was the unlucky one of the two. A long jagged cut appeared at their shoulder. Pidge dropped the scythe, sucking air quickly through their teeth. Their entire arm tingled with fire.

The creature chuckled before biting again. Keith blocked the its face with his blade, quickly twisting the scythe so that it curved around its muzzle. With a sharp tug, the blade cut through, stuck buried deep into the flesh. Black sludge glopped down onto the floor, hissing where it met with the tiles.

The beast swung its head, trying to free from the blade. Keith held tightly on, only to be tugged along with his weapon, thrown left and right, screaming. His lingerie waved back and forth, like a pink sexy flag with a mullet. Hunk tried grabbing onto one of Keith’s flailing legs, but Keith was flying far too quickly.

Pidge rolled their shoulder, clenching and unclenching their fist.

Come one. Suck it up. Just think of how shitty Lance has had it. He was dying yesterday, you can deal with a little scratch.

Pressing down on the cut, Pidge quickly shuffled to their weapon, bending down and gingerly picking it up with their good arm. They held it out in front of them, glancing back and forth between the crazed monster and the blade.

Fuck it.

 

Like many students in High School, Pidge, along with the rest of the Spooky Studs, had to take a required language.

Hunk chose French. Lance took German (originally Spanish, but the school board quickly saw through his ruse) and Pidge took Latin.

In being the studious little nerd they were, Pidge quickly learned about many things about the Roman culture.

Like, did you know they had erect penis statues all around the major cities? Like giant penises. They’d rub it for luck. Incredible. The Romans were truly ahead of their time.

Fuck, I’m getting off topic.

But, one thing Pidge did learn was a popular sport in called discus throw.

To those who are unfamiliar with this particular sport, imagine this:

Big meaty person does twirl really fast and flings heavy frisbee far.

That’s it.

 

Pidge took a deep breath and stared at the target.

Don’t hit Keith.

At least, don’t actively _try_ to hit Keith.

Pidge quickly spun in their spot, extending the scythe as far as they could. As soon as they were in front of the creature, they released the weapon.

As if in slow motion, it spun in the air, swinging closer and closer ‘till it...

completely missed.

 

I forgot to mention something about discus throwing:

You won’t get it right on your first try, you fucking nerd.

 

The blade clanged against the opposite wall, falling to the ground in a loud clatter.

The creature swung its head towards the noise, bracing for another attack.

As soon as he was able to regain a visual on his surroundings, Keith quickly placed both feet on the head and tugged on the blade, springing it free.

The beast howled as a new stream of ooze poured from its open wounds. Keith jumped, his feet making a loud smack on the floor. At the noise, Pidge and Hunk started racing towards the exit once more. Keith followed behind them, covering his mouth to stop the bile from coming up. God, he felt sick.

The beast shook its head, the line of sight blocked by its own blood.

They were sprinting, racing, feet pounding on the white polished tiles.

Pidge ignored the throbbing pain in their arm as they shoved the glass door open with their side. They streamed out of the building, meeting the many mall customers that had luckily escaped. Keith couldn’t hold in any longer; he puked violently.

“This way!” Hunk shouted, gesturing towards the parking lot. Cars were piled together, all honking, desperate to escape. Some had quickly forgotten social decency (good for them) and began driving over the dividers and grass.

Pidge raced towards the white minivan, breathing out a sigh of relief as it unlocked and beeped back at the group. They opened the door and collapsed into the seat, half looking around for some sort of bandage. Hunk sat in the driver seat and jabbed the key into the ignition, giving out a small whoop of relief as it purred to life.

Keith jumped into the car, wiping the vomit off his mouth with the pink lace lingerie still hanging around his neck.

They all smiled lazily at the other, still high off the adrenaline. Keith made a small fist and pumped it weakly in the air.

“You guys were incredible,” he said breathlessly. “Thank you.” Hunk and Pidge smiled back at him. Hunk turned on the engine and started driving out of the parking space.

“So, what was that thing?”

Keith sat up, scrubbing his eyes in exhaustion. “Ancient reaper. Called a Harpie. They avenge and shit.”

Pidge quickly pulled out their phone and typed the name into Google.

“I’m just glad you didn’t bring Lance.” Keith murmured, resting his head against the seat. “That would’ve-“

Immediately, they all sat rigid in their chairs. Hunk screeched the car to a halt.

They looked wildly around the minivan, searching for any sign of the loud Cuban man.

Lance was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Motherfucking Cinnabon.

Lance breathed in deep, savoring the sweet smell of icing and cinnamon wafting through his nose. God fucking bless motherfucking Cinnabon.

He didn’t feel too bad for leaving the car. It had been about forty minutes of just waiting and trying to text his phone in hopes of contacting Keith. Plus, after seeing some spoiled kid walk by flaunting an ooey-gooey Cinnabon, Lance couldn’t wait any longer.

What could he say? He was a weak man with strong needs.

A loud chorus of Bonnie Tyler blasted through his earbuds, the absolute pain, and torment in her wavering voice completely taking Lance to another plane of existence. The music filled his head, disassociating him from the rest of the noises in the mall.

Lance skipped down the tiles, trying to match his motions to the beat. As he attempted an impromptu twirl, just to test his skill, Lance accidentally bumped into someone. Immediately he turned to apologize, but his words were caught in his throat.

She was hot.

The woman had bright long blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail and her teeth shined against her blood red lipstick. She tilted her head, the dark sunglasses glinting in the fluorescent light.

“S-sorry, uh,” Lance stammered, quickly pulling out his earbuds. She giggled back, covering her mouth with her well-manicured hand.

Fuck, he wanted to be that hand.

Lance drunkenly grinned back, completely lost in the shining pitch black shades. She was so prettyyyy.

“It’s okay, hotshot,” she smiled at him, leaning in closer. “Name’s Nyma.” Lance could barely form a coherent sentence. His head was buzzing and foggy, he nearly collapsed to the floor.

“Cinnabon?” Lance managed to say, gesturing towards the vacant stand-

funny. Where did that employee go?

Nyma gifted Lance with her award winning smile. Fuck, why was she so pretty? Keith could wait a while longer- right?

She giggled and grabbed his wrist, tugging him along with her to the food stand. Lance looked down and noticed that she was walking with a bit of a limp. Her left leg was hurt. Did he do that? Lance frowned and pulled her back a little.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Nyma stopped and turned to looked at Lance, her face breaking into another smile. She quickly clasped their hands together, running her thumb along the outline of his hand.

“Just a little battle wound,” she smirked. Lance stared down at their hands, immediately regretting his decision for choosing the stickiest snack ever. His hand was 100% definitely covered in delicious Cinnabon goodness. How was she not disgusted?

“Kiss me better?”

Lance looked up, staring back into her black, shining shades. He gulped.

He knew he was handsome, but wasn’t this a little fast?

Nyma leaned in, tracing her hands up Lance’s chest, moving in to cup his jaw. Lance took a step back.

Lance was all about having fun- but where was the buildup? The flirting was the majority of the-

Nyma pressed closer, Lance continued to back up, till he was pushed up against the wall.

“Come on, last moments,” she purred. “Don’t you wanna have a little fun while we’re at it?”

“Wha-” before Lance could say anything else, the woman crushed her lips against his. He squeaked, trying to move away. Her lipstick tasted like fake strawberries. She pressed closer, making obscene noises as she moved against his mouth. Her sunglasses dug into his face, making indents.

Any other given day, Lance would’ve been a more than willing participant in random make outs. But, today, all he could think of was how the cheap red lipstick was smeared all over his mouth.

What would Keith think?

Well, the damage was already done. He might as well try and enjoy it.

Nyma moaned into Lance’s mouth, her hand running up his chest. She traced her way to his hair, tightening around the locks. Lance held his Cinnabon away from her, all while trying to properly grope her ass with his other hand. She gasped into his mouth, pushing down with more fervency than before.

Lance tried copying her motions, to match her passion and intensity, but no matter what he tried thinking off, the heat wasn’t there. He didn’t really want to do this.

At least, not with her.

Lance rolled his eyes. Okay. This wasn’t fun. He was over it.

Due to Lance’s many years of growing up with siblings, the first rule of getting some unwanted thing (generally a hand) off your mouth was to lick it.

However, Lance figured this rule would have the opposite desired effect.

Luckily, Nyma soon opened her eyes, scrutinizing Lance’s expression. Her lips were still pressed against his, but they were quickly losing motivation. She looked confused. Lance raised an eyebrow, hoping that his whole ‘Are you done?’ face was evident.

She popped off of him and gawked like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Yeah, Lance supposed that a girl like her would be surprised if someone wasn’t 100% into her. Lance smiled sheepishly, about to apologize. Before he could get a word out, she pressed back onto him, harshly crushing her lips against his. She grabbed the sides of his face and squeezed them together, pushing her own face deeper against his, as if she wanted to be swallowed by his skull.

Lance groaned in annoyance. Her kissing skills were rapidly degrading. Right now she was just forcing her lips as hard as she could against his. What about the finesse? This was becoming a nuisance. Where was Keith? Lance wanted to see Keith.

Nyma pulled off him once more, her hand lowering to Lance’s neck. Was she- was she checking his pulse? What the-

“Can you not?” Lance dipped under her arms, successfully escaping her grasp. She just stared back at him.

“What the fuck?” she muttered to herself. She turned back to him, her lipstick smeared around her lips like dried blood. Nyma shrugged. “Guess I gotta do it the old-fashion way.”

The woman opened her mouth, rows of sparkling white teeth grew in size, crowding in her mouth. Her haunches shifted and jerked, the muscles rapidly expanding. Two leathery wings grew out of her back, flapping in the air. The blonde beautiful hair melted into her black ashy skin, the glasses breaking against the size change.

Lance winced, noticing the gashed out eye, still dribbling black blood. The creature roared at him. Lance quickly covered his nose, choking on the beast’s breath. He smiled weakly at her.

“You know what?” he squeaked. “Let’s go back to kissing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT:!!! (two things)
> 
> ONE: I started a new side fic-it's basically romeo and juliet but mafia and texting
> 
> read it [HERE](https://klancetexts.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> TWO: I have a fic giveaway on my tumblr if you're interested
> 
> enter [HERE](https://letlancelive.tumblr.com/post/159539220987/ficnudes-giveaway)
> 
> k im done
> 
> u can shower me with praises nwo pls  
> (i am tired)  
> (revive me)
> 
> also everyone brace yourself for next time:   
> introducing  
> 'jealous keith'


	14. Alt. Ending to Chp. 13

User burtle_tirb (among so fucking many others) said, "Hey friend, what the fuck? Why cant my boy Lance just enjoy his delicious Cinnabon and be done with it."

I, being the ever gracious person, took it upon myself to satisfy the needs of my readers. 

So here is an alternative ending to the last chapter and the story as a whole. 

Enjoy. 

 

* * *

 

 

Mother

fucking

Cinnabon. 

 

Lance looked down at the dessert. It was beautiful, a sticky mess of liquid cinnamon and icing, all drizzled to perfection on the fluffy bread. He brought the treat up to his nose, breathing in the sweet scent. His head buzzed, dizzy with happiness-

-well, happiness _and_ his low blood sugar.

Lance bit back a smile and glanced around the mall, making sure no pedestrians would spy on his intimate moment with the cinnamon roll.

“This is just between you and me, baby,” Lance breathed out, stroking the brown paper wrapping. The cinnamon roll steamed back. 

Lance leaned in and peppered the soft treat with kisses. The dough was hot and sticky under his mouth. 

He pulled back, licking off the icing still on his lips. The sweet taste made him shiver. 

Oohhh my god, it was better than he could ever imagine. Keith who?

Lance delicately took off a small piece of the roll and placed it on his tongue. It practically melted with the dripping cinnamon. After taking a moment to relish in licking off his fingers, Lance dived back down to the roll. 

As his teeth clamped down on the bun, someone called out to him.

“Lance, what the fuck are you doing?”

Lance looked up, the dessert hanging from his mouth. 

Keith, Pidge, and Hunk stared him down, all sharing the same pissed expression.

“Cimmomm?” Lance tried to speak through the roll. They all just shook their head in exasperation. The group turned around and gestured for Lance to follow. 

“You’re just lucky you didn’t get attacked,” Pidge said as they headed for the exit. “That would’ve really sucked.”

Lance took a bite out of the roll, ignoring Hunk as he made grabby hands at the treat, “Yeah, good thing I’m safe and out of harm's way!”

“Hell yeah!” Keith said. He grabbed the roll out of Lance’s hands and threw it in Hunk’s direction. Just as Lance was about to scream, Keith stopped him with a kiss.

They smorched a heck ton and Lived Happily ever after.

 

_ The End _

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

this is my way of saying i sURVIVED FINALS WADDUPPPPPP IM BACK

So sorry about that mini hiatus, but I actually died. I'll post the new chapter by this Sunday. Aaannnddd since it's summer vaca- I'll probably be able to have much fastterrrr updates (and maybe fucking fINISH THIS FUCKIING STORY (HAHHAH UNLIKELY))

 

Anyway, thanks for your guy's comments. They really mean a lot to me, though I'm not always able to respond immediately :,( Again, thank you- I love finding out my work doesn't suck lolll

<333333

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (also no links today- cuz i might end up deleting this- BU T BOI- DO I HAVE SOME SHIT TO LINK YOU GUYS TOOOOOO WASSUP)


	15. Noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R E C A P (cuz its been so long)
> 
> hunk and pidge went to the mall to pick up keith from the underworld or wherever, keith brought a friend- and by friend i mean anooother bloodthirsty monster, they all managed to escape (keith threw up), but lance got bored waiting in the car and escaped into cinnabon world where he made out with said bloodthirsty monster and now he is running for his life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S U P !
> 
> who missed me??? i missed you guys :,(
> 
> anyway!!! here's a chapter- it stretched out much longer than i expected sooooo im already started on the next one ~
> 
> stick till the end because FAN ART!!!!! <333333
> 
> beta'd by the genius  
> [koiiiii<333](https://kyoshu-koi.tumblr.com/) and the silly
> 
> [lizzzz](https://somethingaboutklance.tumblr.com/)(its her birthday btw so go say happy birthday)
> 
> okay  
> love u guuuyss <333

Sound is so in tune with our nature that at most times we don’t even notice it.

Until it’s gone.

 

Silent stores, devoid of human activity and breath. Empty arcades, still blinking and waiting for Player One. A hollow mall brimming with shop music and air vent hums, the mall’s automatic replacement for human noise pollution.

The headphones wrapped around Lance’s neck, still whistling out a tinny sound. A dull reminder of the normality that had circled him minutes before.

Everyone had disappeared. Lance was the last one left. All that remained was her.

Before him rose the blackened, corrupted being. She beat her stretched tight wings, smiling her red rimmed smile. The limbs were taut with muscles, pulling and tearing at the skin, moving with unparalleled power.

Before Lance could even think about it, he was running. His body reacted automatically. No more was the frozen fear, no more hesitation. Lance was far past that now.

Running.

The white plastered walls, the shiny tiled floors, bright paneled lights -

it was all blurring together.

Lance struggled to find a grip on the slippery floor, struggled to find his place in all the rows on rows of same stores, same lights, same colors.

All he knew was to run.

The beast howled behind him.

His head was fuzzy, he could feel his heart shuddering against his ribcage, everything was ...

... everything was ...

... was...

It was silent.

 

The smell of rotten flesh was closing in.

Lance didn’t want to look back at the creature. He knew he couldn’t outrun her like he did the bloodhound. He would have to outsmart her- or hide- or kill her.

Well fuck.

How the fuck was he supposed to kill this stupid thing on his own?

Lance couldn’t even kill some malnourished Lucius Malfoy by himself! He was fucking _lucky_ Pidge managed to land directly on that scythe.

Wait!

Pidge! Hunk!

 _Keith_!

They were supposed to be somewhere in that shitty teen store!

Lance quickly glossed over the store signs, hoping that by any chance or some glorious fate, the store would be on the same floor as him. And-

There! In the far corner gleamed the spotless white shop. He could practically taste the shitty teenage club music now. (It tasted like metallic glitter.)

With his destination in mind, Lance narrowed his focus and ignored the monster behind him. If he could only just get to the store then he wouldn’t be alone and he’d -

 

His feet began trudging on the smooth surface, his lungs ached. His head felt like was filled with water and the liquid was sloshing around in his skull.

Oh right, he had almost died yesterday.

He could barely breathe, let alone continue to run. He was going to die.

Again.

The air was boiling against his skin. Lance’s labored breathing dried his throat. He tried swallowing and choked on his own breath. Fuckfuckfuck

Just as it seemed as if the burning air was going to win,  as the last sliver of hope vanished, as he was about to fall to the ground in surrender, the beast surged forwards and slammed him against the glass railing.

His head smashed into the hard glass, a dull hollow sound reverberating through his skull. His head was swimming, his vision blurred.

Memories of middle school football flashed through his mind.

Lance pressed his face against the cool surface, grappling with whatever energy he had left.

He watched the creature out of the corner of his eye. The beast’s yellow eyes locked with his. She tilted her head and grinned back.

Well- maybe she grinned. Lance couldn’t entirely tell seeing as she didn’t necessarily have any lips, more just a blending of teeth and gums.

“Arrreeee yooouuuuuu dooooonnnne?” the creature hissed.

Lance smacked his dry lips and shakily stood up. He braced himself against the glass paneling.

“Well, actually no,” Lance coughed. “But if we could take a quick break, that’d be great.”

The creature chuckled- or maybe she was coughing up a hairball or something. Lance wasn’t all too sure. Either way, the sound ran like needles down his spine.

Her black wings folded against her back as she sauntered towards the shaking man. Lance pressed closer against the glass. He cleared his throat.

“If anyone’s gonna save me,” Lance turned his head towards the teen clothing store and raised his voice. “NOW IS THE MCFUCKING TIME!”

The mall remained devoid of life.

All that was left was simply Lance and the beast.

 

He was going to fucking die.

In the shitty space mall no less.

The beast’s nails clicked against the shining tiles. Her heavy breaths lilted against Lance’s face. There was no way Lance could run past the creature. Her massive size nearly encompassed his vision.

Lance quickly darted a glance behind him. It was a solid fifty feet drop to the next floor. Lance would probably survive that. Probably.

Well-

Okay scientifically force of gravity is like, 9.8m/s2 and if it takes about the average adult about one second every sixteen feet -

Well no, that’s not accounting for the increase in velocity the longer you fall -

But if fifty feet takes roughly two seconds -

Not even mentioning the air friction!

No - wait, Lance, you’re thinking too much. Come on.

Will you survive?

…

Short answer: not likely.

And, as wonderful as Cinnabon was, Lance was not entirely sure he was ready to die for one.

Lance looked back at the creature. She was nearly close enough to reach out and grab him.

Lance carefully hoisted himself over the glass railing, ignoring his trembling arms. Shaking, he maneuvered to the other side. He was barely able to stand on the small ledge, inches away from death on either side.

The primordial beast chuckled at the flimsy separation. She shook her head and leaned in closer.

“Gooooo aheeeaadddd,” she cooed. “Juummmmppp.”

Lance looked over his shoulder once more, the floor seemingly much farther than it was before.

Either face the beast and die on her terms or jump and die on your own.

Lance turned to face his enemy.

With a two fingered salute, he jumped.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, getting back into the mall was much more difficult than escaping it.

By the time Keith, Hunk and Pidge had run to the entrance, the police had already surrounded the area. Any and all access was blocked off by the yellow tape and men in blue.

The traffic still blared with horns. Everyone was yelling and sticking their heads out of their cars. Some had given up and just jumped out of their vehicles, running across the crowded parking lot. Various officers were spitting words into their megaphones, urging people to stay inside.

Smartly so, no one listened.  

Hunk ran up to the edge of the yellow tape, waving his arms to get an officer’s attention.

“My friend’s still in there!” he shouted. The man behind the barrier just raised his megaphone and barked at Hunk to “vacate the premises immediately.”

Hunk turned to the others, broken and unsure of what to do. Pidge was chewing on their lip, scanning the crowd.

Keith stood on his toes, searching for a break in the milling groups of policemen. Most of them were crowding near the yellow tape, ensuring that no sneaky reporters would try to slip past.

Keith followed the plastic strip with his eyes before he shimmered into invisibility.

As soon as he disappeared, the crowd moved in to fill the space Keith had vacated. He was jostled and shoved to the ground. The gritty pavement scratched at his skin as he was forced to slowly lumber through the many tangled legs. Someone tripped over Keith’s body, ramming their foot into his stomach.

Keith winced and coughed into his hand, trying to get rid of the bile taste still in his mouth. After a moment of pause, Keith shoved back. The pedestrian crashed to the ground, taking several people with them.

With this new distraction set, Keith easily slipped past the row of uniformed officers and caution tape.

Once he had enough room, Keith stood up and looked over the heads, locating Pidge and Hunk arguing nearby. Hunk shifted nervously.  Pidge’s face was turning red as they wildly gestured. Keith raised his hand to give them a signal.

“This is exactly what I was talking about!”

“Pidge, we have to trust him!”

“Oh, sorry if I don’t wanna trust a fucking murderer!”

“Keith’s not- he’s not- he’s-!”

Hunk quieted and avoided Pidge’s gaze. Pidge gnawed on their lip, looking at the ground.

“Come one,” they grabbed Hunk’s sleeve. “We’ll find another way in.”

Keith slowly dropped his hand. He stared after them as they disappeared into the crowd. Ignoring the ache in his chest, he whipped around and began heading towards the mall entrance. He pushed the officers aside, ignoring their shouts.

It didn’t matter.

Right now, he had to focus on the goal: saving Lance’s dumb ass.

Keith gritted his teeth and pushed against the door. It slammed open, echoing in the vast emptiness.

The tiny mall speakers petered out a shitty tune.

Keith closed his eyes and listened for the sounds of ripping flesh or terrified shrieks.

Almost complete silence.

Keith jogged out into the open. It was the exact place the harpy had been before. The same fountain still cycling out the same water.

Keith scanned the area, looking for any sort of life, anything to suggest that he wasn’t too late, that Lance-

something glinted on the floor.

Something that no one else would even see except for him.

A scythe.

Pidge’s scythe.

Keith quickly snatched the weapon, ignoring the small bolt of electricity that bubbled from its surface.

 

And then-

a guttered chuckle.

Long and low.

Keith whipped around, looking around desperately to find the laughter’s source.

 

In the distance, on the second-floor balcony resided the rotting harpy, smiling wide at-

Lance.

He was gripping the glass banister, a step away from his death.

Keith raced towards him, hoping he would make it in time to catch the idiot-

But, he was on the other side of the mall. No matter what, Keith was useless.

Lance would die.

This was all his fault.

 

And yet, Keith continued to run. Despite the impossible distance, Keith ran. Past the flickering shop signs, the plastic greenery, the cement trash cans. He kept running.

The beast’s command slipped past its glossed teeth.

“Juuuummppp.”

Lance was more than doomed. Lance was already guaranteed dead.

But Keith kept running.

Even faster now. Till his sides burned. Till his chest felt like collapsing.Till the air thickened. Till it was too much for his lungs.

He was past the point of exhaustion, the bile still stinging the back of his throat. He was no longer aware of his physical form’s limit. He was well beyond that now.

However, despite his exhaustion, despite his goal focused mind, it was one of those rare and few moments where Keith, someone who had both killed and been killed nearly fifty years ago, was able to hear his own heartbeat.

In the often still silence that was his chemistry, it was strange and unfamiliar.

Low

and loud.

The first drum he could feel in his wrists. Like a soft, fleeting brush against his skin.

The second drum he could feel in his neck. This one vibrating in his ears, like something stuck in his throat that he just could not swallow down.

The third drum he could feel in his chest. This one was strong. It tugged him forward, the rise of the beat never falling back down. It just kept pulling and pulling him towards the monster and towards Lance.

And then, finally, it remembered the physics of its nature. After the rise must come the fall. The heartbeat dropped back into its original place, beating in perfect time as Lance plummeted to the ground.

 

His heart silenced. His breathing stopped. His vision blackened.

All he could sense was a ringing in his ears.

The polished white tiles stained with red blood. The snap of bones, the rip of flesh.

Lance was dead.

 

And it was silence. Deafening silence.

 

Have you ever experienced such a thing?

It’s during those few moments in your life where nothing will be the same thereafter. You learn something, discover something, see something. And shortly after, deafening silence follows.

Sometimes it’s immediate.

Those are horrible.

You can’t think straight, your mind won’t process its surroundings and you’re left with the irrational idea that the air is poison. You can’t breathe. You can’t think.

Everything feels wrong.

 

But sometimes, the silence comes long after.

Sometimes, that silence appears when you’re sitting alone.

 

Those are worse.

 

Because at that moment, you can think rationally. And you can finally see into the future and understand the past and-

did you miss something?

was there something else you could have done?

is this your fault-

this is your fault.

 

Quick.

Watch something, read something, do anything. Just don’t think about it.

 

And then, for the time being, the silence quiets.

 

Gradually, enveloping him once more, Keith’s senses returned. They weakly crawled back, the black ring fading from his eyes, the dull ringing morphing into a sound much more clear.

The ringing was Keith’s own scream.

The monster jerked its head towards him, grinning its bloodied smile. Mighty wings stretched out, beating the creature into the still air. Rising above the glass barrier, it descended to the ground. The sharp gaze steadied on Keith.

Tears clouded the reaper’s vision. He angrily wiped them away, breaking his frozen state. His grip tightened on the scythe, the wood about to splinter. He charged towards the creature. Keith was going to kill this thing before it killed him.

It waited patiently, watching Keith near.

Keith’s scream was choked and broken. He raised his weapon above his head, skidding to a halt before the mighty beast.

He was heaving, his tears burning into his skin. He couldn’t breathe. He kept choking on the air. The world was blurring around the edges, all Keith could see was the monster.

The harpy leered down at the small reaper, its hollow eye socket glistening with blood. A tongue snaked past the glistening teeth, running along the red gums. The beast crouched down closer, eyeing Keith.

“Whhhhhyyyyyy arrrreeeee yyoooouuuuu sssstillll aaallliiiiiiivvvvvee?”

Keith ignored the creature and glared at it, trying to locate a good place to stab. The beast was covered in a rotted exoskeleton, barely making any space for any softer flesh.

 

There. On the neck, just below the jaw. Unguarded tissue amassing over the sinewy muscles.

 

Keith raised the scythe out in front of him, taking in a deep breath. He ignored the burning tear tracks on his cheeks.

The harpy was right. He was supposed to be dead. Lance had died. Keith had failed. It wouldn’t be long until his body would be unable to support itself. That small subtle heartbeat would cease and Keith would die.

But there was still one thing he needed to do before that happened.

With a steely gaze, Keith marched towards the creature. No point in waiting. Keith gulped down his fear. He faced the monster head on, ready to die.

It wasn’t the first time, but it would be the last.

The creature reeled back, unnerved by the calm collectiveness of the reaper. It tilted its head, trying to decode the inner workings of Keith’s mind.

If the primordial beast still retained any of its previous reaper powers, it might have been able to read his mind to determine Keith’s plan.

There was no plan.

Just keep moving forward and kill.

But, the creature was far past its previous humanity. Keith doubted it could even transform into its human form, let alone read minds. It was nothing but instinct and claws now.

The harpy shook its head, rattling out the confusion. Keith continued forward. It hissed back, warning the reaper. Keith didn’t care. It took a step back towards the ledge where Lance had jumped.

Where Lance had died.

There was a falter in Keith’s steps. His chest tightened. He clenched the weapon, quieting the silence that threatened his senses.

Keep going.

But, it was too late.

The creature noticed his moment of pause and grinned evilly.

It quickly unfolded its wings and beat them, sending a gust of air in his direction.

Keith stumbled back, struggling against the wind. The creature roared and began to beat its wings faster. Its howls soon devolved into laughter.

The reaper wrestled against the wind, stumbling with his footing. He clawed at the air, trying to find a grip, but it only unbalanced him even further. Staggering backwards, Keith tripped over one of the many mall plants.

The large ceramic pot tilted back and forth, before smashing to the ground, scattering the thick shards everywhere.

The harpy bellowed a laugh at the fallen reaper.

Keith gritted his teeth at the noise. It sounded like a back guttural cough. A dark howl from the otherworldly beast, deep and low mixed with some higher notes.

Lighter notes.

Different-

Another-

 

Keith froze.

 

Someone else was laughing.

A small snicker.

A quarter of a second long and then it was gone.

Keith looked up.

And for a quarter of a second, a sliver of the anger and hatred that devoured him was replaced with a bit of hope.

But,

it was impossible, right?

Keith had seen Lance fall. He jumped and now he was dead.

But,

where was the body?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeeeeeeyyyy  
> so just wanted to say bless all your hearts for continuing to comment and not send me hate lol <333 u guys are wonderful
> 
> in case u were wondering why i died- im working overtime rn at a job so im,,,,, not Completely Physically Here. 
> 
> but !!! Fanart!!!!!! (i literally sobbed seeing these- im just,,, you guys are incredible??????)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Fanart by thebostonbeeparty, its so floooofy](https://letlancelive.tumblr.com/post/162283326097/thebostonbeeparty-some-doodles-from-the-early)
> 
>  
> 
> [Fanart by simply-nel, of the first chapter and man im in loveee](https://letlancelive.tumblr.com/post/159589649232/simply-nel-are-you-always-this-much-of-a-dick)  
> [Fanart by dekufied of The Fresh To Death Jacket lollllll ](https://letlancelive.tumblr.com/post/159609778802/tyunee-letlancelive-hey-i-am-not-good-at-art)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Hey if you make a post with some fanart from this fic, I would loooove to link it <3333333 (if i haven't reblogged ur art- means i haven't seen it :OOO send me a message <33)
> 
> But seriously thank you guys for being such sweethearts<3333 we'll get through this together. 
> 
> lance might not tho ://///
> 
>  
> 
> comment and kudos are ways to my heart <333
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](https://letlancelive.tumblr.com/)


	16. Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :*

For a moment, let’s step back and discuss something very close and dear to my heart.

 

Interior architecture.

 

More specifically the interior architecture of one very specific space mall. 

 

In 1956 a large abandoned business center was purchased by one Varkon Blart. Blart had big plans for this particular business center. Big Plans. Big Space Mall Plans. 

The structure was basic in many ways you would expect a business center to be.

It had various different offices and cubicles, as well as a large area to ship out trucks carrying packages on top of packages. However, there was something particularly interesting about this office space. 

Lining the insides of all the walls was an abundance of pneumatic tubes. Using an advanced system of pressurized air, these tubes had the ability to send documents flying across the business center in record speeds.

When Varkon Blart discovered this in his remodeling, he quickly took advantage and developed the idea for a space themed mall. Sparing no time, the man quickly peeled off the outer walls, exposing the building’s piped skeleton.

Entering the mall would be like something out of a Kubrick movie. Every detail was carefully thought out and inspected. The surfaces would be sleek and futuristic, shined every hour by the janitorial staff. The walls and tiles would be so white that special Space Sunglasses would be mandatory. And the pipes would serve their purpose as a transportation for the aquatic alien customers. 

Unfortunately, over the years, the space theme was quickly replaced with a basic cookie-cutter mall look. The unique architecture was destroyed to make room for more traditional store layouts. 

Gone was the large mural on the ceiling documenting the stars. Gone was the astronaut held prisoner in the mall’s center. Gone was the deafening Space Alarm blast going off every time there was a sale.

Varkon Blart’s vision was destroyed by the bloodthirsty progress that is interior architecture.

 

Despite this, the pipes remained. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have fun here <3333
> 
>  
> 
> ((i'll link more fanart in the next chapterrr<33))
> 
> ((new real chap out vvvv soon))


	17. Quiet Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next part out tomorrow :* dw
> 
> WARNING: there is Blood and killing in this ( like the whole thing)
> 
> but i mean, if ur this far in the story, you're prob used to it
> 
> tell me if i need to tag anything :*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> muah yall are brilliant if you're still sticking with this despite me being Like This
> 
> i love you all
> 
> {sorry i haven't replied to a lot of comments :,( i've been Really busy, but know that I APPRECIATE THEM ALLLLL LIKE I CRY AND YALL HELP ME GET THROUGH MY DAY DAMN}
> 
>  
> 
> also this Bitch aint beta'd at alll lolololololo so sorry

Lance used to be proud of his large collection of near-death experiences. 

Every brush with death, every fading scar, every adrenaline overload was equivalent to a badge of honor. 

The new experiences, taunting death to no end, always made the best stories. 

Of course, the memories of the experiences were far comfier, safer. They tricked him into believing it was never _that_ bad. He started to think that the fear he previously experienced was just a faint buzzing. 

He always knew he would survive. He never even glanced at the other side. 

 

But now, in this moment, Lance was facing a long stretched out moment of death. Here standing on a ledge, a hulking deformed beast urging him forward, urging him to jump, Lance had no memories to hide behind. He was stuck in this moment. Forced to accept his own immediate mortality. 

With a steadying breath, Lance turned to face the monster. 

She was much closer than before. She leered down at him, the black gunk still slopping from her hollow eye socket. The heavy breaths hit him, sticky heat sliding off his face.

 

Gross.

 

He couldn’t believe he was just sucking face with this chick moments ago. Lance really needed to up his standards.

Sticking close to his Dreamworks persona, Lance gave a small half smile and a salute in the face of certain death. 

Death gave him a toothy snarl back. 

With that final exchange, Lance jumped. 

Previously, Lance was always stuck in his head when it came to the important things. Internalizing everything important. Externalizing all the garbage that couldn’t fit in the remaining space.

Luckily, something always managed to pull Lance down to stable ground. 

But now Lance was falling to his death. And despite all the adrenaline burning through his veins, it didn’t seem real. He was a foot away from the action; there was a film over his bright blue eyes.

Had it always been this way? Or was he just now noticing it, faced with an even that should surely demand an emotional response.

But something- _someone_ burst that protective bubble, wiped out the film and threw Lance back into first person. 

Something- _someone_ screamed his name. 

Snap. 

Everything moved faster, desperate to catch up. 

He wasn’t floating to the ground.  
No, he was plummeting.

Lance’s body slammed down towards the polished floor. The world spiraled out of control. The soft romantic haze was now replaced with the sharp crispness, a heart speeding reality. 

Lance could feel the air stuck in his throat, everything was rushing ahead of him, he was milliseconds behind. But his body was not aware of the mental crisis Lance was in. It was ready to fight for its survival. 

Immediately, his hand shot out, grappling, clawing at anything to slow his fall. His hand latched onto something. The jerk and pull of gravity tore at his shoulder, almost certainly aiding in permeant damage to his muscles. Lance ignored the sharp pain, instead focusing on the sweat collecting on his fingertips, making his hold that much harder. He clung to the small ledge, readjusting his grip.

He wouldn’t be able to hold much longer. 

If he was going to survive this, he would need to jump. 

Lance dared a small look at the ground below him.

And- oh fuck. Yeah, he still wouldn’t survive that. 

Lance looked over his shoulder, eyeing for anything to break his own fall. The closest thing to him was a group of potted plants about thirty feet away. Other than that, the entire space was devoid of anything that could break his fall. 

Perfect.

Wonderful. 

Fuck this. 

 

The monster hissed from above. 

Her pounding footfalls beat reverberations into the ground. He didn’t have much time left. His arms were still weak and all this dumb fear was making him perspire uncomfortably. 

He needed some sort of miracle, some sort of magical coincidental occurrence that would save his life. 

Where the fuck was he supposed to get that?

Maybe if there was something to grab on on the bottom of the ledge he was currently holding onto? It was about 3 feet thick, and at this point, three feet closer to not dying. 

Lance swung his legs back and forth, trying to gauge if there was something protruding from the ledge. 

His foot hooked onto something. 

Something was hanging off the ledge. Lance tugged on it a bit, testing the strength. After a certain amount of trust was built, he maneuvered to secure his other foot on the protrusion. It seemed… sturdy enough. Whether or not it could hold a grown man was debatable.

This was a stupid idea. If this thing didn’t hold his weight, he would most likely fall on his head and do some Serious Serious damage. However, if he fell on his own terms, he might not be completely incapacitated. 

With a gush of swirling hot air, the monster descended from her high perch in the mall. The smell of decay and death settled on Lance.

One by one, Lance’s fingers lost their grip. As the final finger gave way, he fell backward, the air curling around his head. 

After a couple moments of rocking back and forth, Lance looked up. His feet were hooked to a pipe running along the ceiling of the mall. 

Why the fuck was there a pipe there? 

Nope, wait. Doesn’t matter. It saved your life. Thank the pipe. 

 

Thank you, pipe. 

 

Lance reached up and wrapped onto the pipe, much like one would describe a koala. If you ignored the sweat stains, Lance made a very cute koala. 

The beast chucked at something. Lance froze, scared he had been caught. However, she was facing the other way. 

Lance gauged the distance between them. About fifteen feet maybe? Still too far for Lance to jump attack. All he needed was for her to back up closer to him. His grip was definitely gonna give out soon. 

“Whhhhhyyyyyy arrrreeeee yyoooouuuuu sssstillll aaallliiiiiiivvvvvee?”

Was she talking to him? Should he answer? This was kind of weird. Why wasn’t she facing him?

Was there someone else here?

Lance looked over his shoulder, but the massive hulking beast blocked his view entirely.

He thought back. Did he just miss something? Did one of his friends stay to rescue him? Lance couldn’t remember seeing anyone. Either they were hiding behind something or were too far away for him to even notice. 

Footsteps. 

Not claws clicking on the tiles, not reptilian pads brushing against the ground. No. Human footsteps. 

They were coming closer. Lance could see the muscles in the monster tense. She was… _scared_.

What could make something this horrifying and animalistic frightened? 

She was backing up towards Lance. 

For the first time, Lance actually developed a plan that didn’t completely end in his immediate and utter demise. 

But then the beast extended her wings and began fighting back. The beating of wings pushed an incredible amount of air pressure against him. Although it did help dry his sweat, it was not helping his grip on the pipe. 

It was still about a thirty feet drop. He would probably fracture only half his skeleton. Best case scenario.

Lance silently prayed to his savior. 

Keep doing what you’re doing. Keep up the intimidation game; it’s working. 

A loud crash sounded, quickly followed by a small curse. 

Lance snickered. Ooooo, his savior had a potty mouth. Noted. 

The beast stopped its wind tunnel and chuckled at the person. With a quick sputter, the laughter suddenly turned into a gurgled choke, gasping for air. 

Lance looked up from his hiding spot. 

Sprouting from the beast’s neck amidst a bouquet of blood sparkled a scythe. 

“Nice aim, hotshot,” Lance murmured, visibly impressed.

The monster choked on the blood running down her throat, backing up, grappling at the blade nestled deep into her skin. 

Perfect. 

Carefully, Lance unhooked his feet from the ledge. After some readjustment, he began to swing back and forth, building up a momentum. 

The beast began to whip her head, desperately trying to dislodge the blade. She was inching forward in her attempts. Lance’s window was closing. 

With a final lock on his target, Lance let go of his savior pipe. As he flew through the air, he sent the pipe one final thanks. 

He slammed into the beast, wincing as his face slapped into the rancid skin.

The blood was slick like oil, still freshly pouring from the wound. Lance started to slip down the back before digging his nails into the skin.The beast roared, a shudder passing through.

He had fallen off too many things today, and he was not about to let some fucking dead bitch win this round. 

With each shaking movement, Lance clawed his way up the back of the beast. The thing shrieked out each time Lance dug his nails into its back. He winced at the grating noise. 

“Please for the love of god!” Lance yelled back. “Shut up!”

The creature ignored him and continued to howl, this time accompanied by someone else’s shouts. He could hear their voice, however, no words were able to be discerned over the howling shrieks. With another loud shout from his savior, Lance picked up the distinct sound of blade piercing flesh.

Ahhhh, his savior must be hacking up a storm in the front. Good for them. 

The monster jerked to the side, probably avoiding the savior’s advances. Lance almost slid off, his body being dragged with the creature. 

If the damn thing could stay still for just two more seconds, Lance could finally reach that scythe. He continued to climb, his nails dirtied with blood and skin. He was just a foot away from the blade. Just a couple more-

Annnddd- yes!  
Lance steadied himself on her shoulders, his grip clinging to the scythe. With a triumphant grunt, Lance pulled the blade out of the beast’s neck, ignoring its pained howl.

He attempted to hold the weapon over his head but was immediately reminded of the weakened state his body currently resided in. The scythe slammed back down into the skin. The creature let out another strangled screech.She began to swing its body back and forth again, attempting to dislodge the blade. 

Lance gripped the scythe, trying to pull it out of the neck. The blade shifted in the skin but remained stuck. 

Lance continued to yank at the weapon, but it was buried deep. 

“Fucking mcfucking fuck fuck fucker-"

“LANCE!”

Lance looked over the hulking beast’s shoulder. Nothing. The mall was completely-

“LANCE!”

Oh right. 

Lance looked down at the ground, tilting his vision down. He still couldn’t see anything as the beast shifted back and forth, still trying to free the blade. Lance clung desperately to the scythe and squeezing his legs to secure the position. 

Someone cursed below him. After a moment of pause, the person gave a war cry. Quickly following was sounds of skin and guts being sliced bloodily. The beast roared. 

With one final jerk, Lance was able to rip the scythe out of the skin. 

However lucky that seemed at first, Lance was severely misguided. With his only grip on the beast released, Lance was unfortunately whipped off the creature to the solid ground. 

He would have cried out in pain, that is if the wind hadn’t been knocked out of him. 

Lance gasped on the ground, choking on his own breath. His lungs felt collapsed, his eyes were tearing up and red. Everything was blurry. His head was throbbing. 

Okay. You’re down in the middle of a battle. It’ll be fine. Right? Right. 

First things first: Breathe. 

Lance tried forcing in the air. He started coughing, the burning in his chest slowing disappearing with every exhale. He blinked away the tears, everything slowing coming into focus. Once the world had stilled and he was thinking somewhat clearly, Lance sat up, moving his sore joints. 

With an untapped strength Lance didn’t know he had left, he completed the nearly impossible task of standing up. 

After a quick stretch, Lance cracked his backed, making the biggest sex moan at the pop. 

He scanned the area, gathering his surroundings. 

The monster had her back to him, breathing heavily over something. She raised a clawed hand. The discard scythe was only two feet away from the hulking beast. 

For a brief second, a selfish thought slinked in. 

He could just… leave. 

The monster wouldn’t notice. Lance would be safe, if only for a couple moments. 

She slashed down. A scream. 

All self-preservation disappeared, now replaced with anger. Lance rushed over, scooping up the weapon. With a yell, he slammed the hooked blade into her ribs. Immediately, Lance ripped the weapon out, shouting over the telltale crunch of bones. 

The creature howled out, whipping to face her attacker. Lance anticipated it. He held the weapon in direct line to her neck as he could get. The beast turned right into it. 

With each shriek, blood spurted out and sprayed him. 

Lance smacked his lips, the metallic taste filling his mouth. After this, Lance was gonna drink a big ol’ gallon of bleach. But first, he had to kill a bitch. 

The monster slapped her hand over her bleeding neck, using the other to slash at Lance. 

He ducked, slicing upwards, catching a finger. It dropped to the ground.

She snarled. 

Another spray of blood. 

Fucking Nasty. 

“Youuuuu dooon’t knoooow whaaaat yoooou’reeeee dooooing,” the creature hissed. Lance spit on the ground, his saliva black with her blood. 

“I thought it was obvious,” Lance smirked. “I’m killing you.”

The beast gave a strangled yell, too bled out to even attempt an escape. Lance chucked the scythe, the blade landing directly in the beast’s chest. 

Smoke curled from the wound. She looked down, blood now coating her skin. Her lips twitched. 

Her beady gaze rested on Lance. With a blink, it changed to a bright blue. Her bones seemed to melt down, the harshness now replaced with a feminine curve. The gray skin morphed into a light tan. Soft blond hair fell down her shoulders. 

No longer was there a hideous beast, but a beautiful girl, covered in her own blood and smoke. 

She collapsed to the ground.

Lance watched the woman, towering over her. Her chest shuddered with slight breaths. 

Lance winced, looking at her all too human eye. The other one was clouded with a long gash. She stared back at him. 

Lance kneeled next to her, his hands on the scythe. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the spray of blood once the blade was pulled out. 

A cold grasp on his arm stopped him. 

His eyes shot open. She didn’t release her grip. 

“You’re making a mistake,” she croaked.  
“Shut up,” he pulled at his arm. Her grip released and her arm dropped to her side.

Lance gritted his teeth, pulling the weapon. With a gasp, blood and smoke poured out of the gaping wound, the weapon now laying in Lance’s arms. 

The woman stared at Lance, the last bit of life fading from her gaze. 

She smiled. 

“I’m not the only one you should fear,” she whispered. With a final sigh, her silver soul released and fit neatly into the blade. 

Nyma’s head lolled to the side, looking directly at her last victim. 

Lance stood up, immediately forgetting the woman’s warning. He dropped the scythe and rushed to his savior’s side. 

 

Keith. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey thanks for sticking with me even tho im super erratic and my writing is Shite lol
> 
>  
> 
> but! next part out tomorrowish- i just need to edit the binch
> 
> (hey if u sent me artwork and i forgot to link it PLEASe tell meeeee :DD)
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.letlancelive.tumblr.com/)


	18. Rock 'n' Roll Suicide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flufllff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikse its cold  
> hope ur staying warm and cozyyy <3
> 
> i've rewritten this chapter like 40 different times so its a lil longer  
> hopefully she good

Keith. 

His eyes were closed and fluttering, and his breathing short and shallow. Lance fell down next to his savior’s side, looking for any cause of hurt. 

Three long ribbons were slashed through Keith’s shirt, the fabric too dark to reveal any blood.

"Keith," Lance said. "Can you hear me?"

The reaper did not move. 

Holding his breath, Lance moved the shirt up, occasionally glancing back at the grim reaper. 

"This can totally be justified with normal non-pervy reasons," Lance muttered, mainly to himself.

Lance sighed in relief as Keith's stomach was revealed. The reaper was whole and intact, save for a minor scratch running down his abdomen. Hopefully, Nyma wasn't poisonous. 

Fuck. Wait. Was Nyma poisonous? 

Keith stirred, his eyes slowly opening. 

Lance froze, still holding Keith’s shirt in his hand. Keith’s eyes blinked open, adjusting to the light. Lance gulped, finally finding the strength to let go of the shirt. It fluttered down, covering Keith once more. 

“Haha, umm,” Lance avoided Keith's gaze. “Heeeey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Keith smirked and closed his eyes for a second longer.  His head was pounding like a bitch. 

"Do you uhh," Lance stared at Keith, trailing off. 

Keith weakly held up a finger and shook his head. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes and gritted his teeth. 

"Okay, let's try this," he groaned.

Slowly, Keith attempted to prop himself up. Just as he was starting to make some progress, his balance faltered. In a second, Lance grabbed onto the man’s arm, supporting him back up.

“I’m fine,” Keith licked his dry lips. “Just a little concussion. Should clear up easy soon.” 

“Right,” Lance shook his head. “’Cause concussions do that sort of thing. Sure.”

"When you're a grim reaper, they do," Keith gave another attempt at lifting himself up.

He slowly brought his body up to a complete sitting position. The pain on his stomach burned with every movement. 

Keith's mind was swimming, the vision blurring in an out. He paused, wincing his eyes closed once more. 

"Gimme a sec," he muttered. He rubbed his palms into his eyes, sparking a vibrant set of colors to dance on his eyelids. 

Once he had finally gained some sense of calm, Keith opened his eyes only to be greeted with a red-faced Lance and his outstretched hands. Keith raised an eyebrow.

"I uhh. Here," Lance bit his lip, hesitating for a moment. Studying Keith for any indication to stop, Lance gently grasped Keith's hands. "We used to do this in gym class."

Lance pulled against Keith's weight. Keith pulled back. Holding onto the other, they were able to slowly use gravity to bring themselves up. They were doing the impossible, something never before conceived possible. 

They were standing up. 

Keith grinned at Lance, the fogginess in his head dissipating. Lance smirked back, proud of their achievement. 

They stayed standing, connected by their hold on another. They took a moment, regaining their balance and ignoring the present vertigo. But as the initial moment ended, one thing remained:

They were still holding hands. 

Lance gaped at the contact. The normal thing was to let go and pretend like nothing happened. But if he hadn’t been so fucking tired, and if he hadn’t been so fucking hungry, he might have been capable of a normal cognitive capacity. He was too exhausted to think about complicated social interaction. And, on top of that, his hands were still sweaty. His grip was probably as comfortable as a flaccid dead fish. 

Since Lance's luck was just overflowing at this point, it seemed only fitting that at this very moment, despite all of their hard work, his legs would give out.

Pulling Keith down with him, Lance slammed to the floor. 

Keith froze, shocked and silenced by the loud noise echoing off the glassy walls. Their clasped hands now the only barrier between their chests. Keith stared open-mouthed at Lance, unsure if the fall knocked his wind out or if it was something else entirely.

After the initial agonizing silence, Lance, as he always does, managed to cut through the tension. 

“Looks like,” Lance smirked. “I've fallen for you.”

Keith rolled his eyes. With a sudden burst of energy, he was able to push off of Lance and land on the nearby floor. 

"You're an idiot," Keith muttered. 

Lance didn't answer. 

Keith tilted his head, turning to look over at the man. 

Lance’s eyes were bulging out of his skull, his hands covering his crotch. 

“You...” Lance croaked, his voice cracking into silence. With an obnoxious inhale, he managed to gather the strength he previously lacked. "Your knee... is really s-sharp."

It took quite a bit of time before everything clicked for Keith. He sat up, examining his knee. Was it really that sharp? He rubbed it. It seemed fairly dull for a knee. 

Why was Lance-

_Ohhhh_...

“Do you, uh...” Keith trailed off, watching in amazement at the various hues Lance was changing into. Between his laborious breaths, Lance managed to glare back at him. Keith's eyes darted away, his face flushing. “Do you need anything?”

After a couple of pained gasps, Lance nodded weakly.

“Ice,” he coughed back. Small tears formed at the corners of his eyes. With a weak, feeble voice, Lance added, "and food."

Keith nodded stiffly. Good. A task that would take him far far away from... whatever this was. 

After an embarrassing amount of time, Keith managed to stand up. His legs were still wobbly, but not enough so that Lance would notice. He was too busy moaning about "pobre pequeño Lancey-Lance."

Keith turned around, tensely walking away. His face felt like it was permanently on fire. But, at least he had managed to get rid of that weird tension. Those tingles and buzzings in his stomach? Completely gone. Instead, Keith’s stomach was filled with a bag of rocks and regret.

On top of that, he had no idea where he was going.

It had been a while since he had been in a mall. And although this one seemed oddly familiar, all the white hallways were blurring together. 

This is fine. 

He wanted to puke. 

The smell of fried oil and grease filtered through the air. Keith perked up, following the scent, the pain in his body lessoning at the prospect of food.

The smell became stronger, and it wasn't long until Keith was standing before a cacophony of company trademarked chains and shinning buttered foods. It was the gold at the end of the rainbow, the air shimmering with heat and fat. Keith wanted to break down and cry. 

Keith ran to the shitty Chinese buffet, glancing over the glazed meats and fried vegetables. Probably not the healthiest choice, but hey, Lance needed his sugars. 

Not bothering with any pretense of social niceties, Keith placed lifted the metal tubs right out of their place and began stacking. The hot metal burned his hands, but he didn't care. He was a grim reaper, right? He'd heal. 

Sweet and sour chicken. Nice. Maybe some this assortment of veggies dripping with soy sauce. And some rice- can’t have a meal with some good ol’ fried rice. And- oh my god… dumplings. When was the last time Keith had dumplings? His mouth was practically salivating on the spot.

Not wanting to forget, Keith ran over to the soda machine and made sure to fill the Extra-Jumbo-Supreme-I'm-A-Big-Boy Cup to the brim with ice. 

After some coordinating, he was able to stack all four metal tins on top of each other. The Jumbo-Supreme-I'm-A-Big-Boy Cup was balanced on top, held purely by luck. Granted, he couldn’t really see what was in front of him, but that didn't matter. Lance needed food and Keith would shove it down his throat if it killed him. 

Actually, he probably should keep physical contact to a minimum. He didn't want a repeat of last time. 

With one foot in front of each other, Keith carefully made his way across the cafeteria. However, being the impatient bitch he was, Keith started walking a little faster.

“Keith!”

He screeched to a halt, the metal tins rocking back and forth in his arms. He froze, silently begging the Jumbo-Supreme-I'm-A-Big-Boy Cup not to fall.

It teetered, circling on its rim. Keith watched, painfully silent. 

The cup landed perfectly on its side and spilled over, scattering its contents around the reaper.

"Fuck you, you piece of shit," Keith spit out through gritted teeth. 

"What did you say?"

"Nothing," Keith wobbled towards the voice. "Where are you?"

A voice called back, beckoning him closer. Keith followed it, teetering slowly on the untraversed territory. 

“Right here!” Lance said, his voice just a few feet away. “Just set those on the ground, I guess.”

Keith squatted, slowly placing them down. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to meet Lance’s eyes just yet; he somewhat enjoyed the metal barrier between them. But, unfortunately, he couldn’t stare at the ground forever. Sooner or later, Keith would have to look at Lance. 

“Keith?”

After a deep breath, Keith began collecting what ice he could. 

“Sorry about earlier,” he murmured, pretending to immersed in the work. Lance laughed. 

“Don’t worry about it, buddy!” with a flick of water, Lance splashed at Keith. Keith froze, quickly looking up in defense. 

Lance was wading in the mall fountain, casually washing the blood off his body. Keith shot a glance at the discarded articles of clothing at the base of the fountain.Keith watched as the black liquid slid off Lance's shoulders, revealing the tan skin underneath. 

This was not helping Keith’s case. 

He gulped, standing frozen as Lance climbed out of the fountain. Using his discarded shirt as a towel, he dried off his hair. 

He glanced up, catching Keith’s stare. It took every ounce of the reaper’s body not to follow the trail of droplets running down Lance’s back. 

“Hey, I know it’s not sanitary,” Lance murmured. “But it’s better than this black shit… I hope.”

Keith weakly nodded. After a moment of mental screaming, he handed Lance the half-filled cup of ice. 

"Thank youuuuu," Lance moaned. Snatching the cup, Lance pulled back his waistband and poured the ice down the front of his pants. He lolled his head back, giving out a particularly sultry sob. 

Keith's eye twitched. Once he was able to pull his eyes away, he began lifting the tin lids off. The steam escaped from their metal prisons, releasing a symphony of mouth-watering smells. 

"I, uh, didn't know what you wanted," Keith said, pointedly avoiding Lance. Lance turned to gaze at the feast. "So I, uh, got you pretty much everything."  


Lance breathed something under his breath. 

“What?” Keith asked, already sitting down.  Lance looked at Keith for a moment, his own blush returning. 

“I said uh, thank you,” he lied. 

Keith shrugged murmuring an incoherent ‘it was nothing’. 

Lance sat down beside him, instantly melting into the steam. This was true love. 

“Keith,” Lance looked back at him. “You're amazing. How did you know that I was so craving shitty Chinese food?”

Keith’s face turned red as he turned away. He reached down, trying to drown the weird tingles when he finally realized. 

“FUCK!” he yelled.

“WHAT?” Lance yelled back. 

“I FORGOT- FUCK!” Keith jumped up, ignoring Lance, and ran back in the direction of the cafeteria. 

Lance watched him leave, shrugging and turning back to the food.

Oh right. Utensils. 

In any other situation, Lance would have taken his chances with the finger food. However, considering the filthy mall fountain water he was currently soaked in, Lance didn’t want to take any chances. 

He glanced around, quickly spotting a nearby bathroom. As soon as his tried standing up again, the pain and wobbliness in his legs returned. It was too much effort to even stand. He would have about drowned in that fountain if he didn’t want to look like a complete imbecile in front of Keith. 

Lance plopped down again. The steam rose tantalizingly from the food. He was practically drooling. Maybe if he tried dump-trucking the food into his mouth-

“Here,” Keith said, out of breath. He was holding two sporks and two pairs of chopsticks. 

Two choices: one makes you look like an uncultured swine, and the other proves that you’re an uncultured swine. Best go with the sporks then. 

Lance thanked him, scooting closer to the tins. Without a second thought, he began shoving the food down his throat, moaning with the taste. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday. 

And, as everyone knows, nothing makes food taste better than near starvation. 

“This is so goooooooddd,” Lance groaned through a mouthful. Keith grunted back, busy shoveling dumpling after dumpling into his mouth. 

After a couple moments of silence, when they had finally stuffed themselves to contempt, Lance flopped down to the ground.

“Seriously, thank you,” he closed his eyes. Finally, fat and happy once more. “I needed that.”

Keith leaned back down on the ground next to Lance. There was a foot between them, a respectable platonic distance. 

Lance turned to stare at him, inadvertently moving closer. 

“So, what was that thing?” he said. 

Keith didn’t bother to look at him. He had been struggling with a lot of… things lately, and gazing at Lance, while they were both laying horizontally next to each other, would not help. 

“A crazy old grim reaper. One that isn’t really… human anymore,” he said, staring at the white ceiling. Pipes zigzagged across, creating a sort of weird design. He looked back at Lance, quickly adverting his eyes when he realized Lance was staring back. It was no sunset, but it was better than being alone.“Oh, fuck.That reminds me.” 

 Keith sat up. He quickly shuddered off Lance’s jacket, laying it between them. 

“Ah, right. Thanks,” Lance shifted up, just staring at the jacket. He looked back at Keith, pausing for a moment. “You can uh, keep borrowing it if you want.”

Keith looked down at Lance.  Quickly adverting his gaze, Lance rushed in to say, “I mean, to hide your scar of course.”

Keith could feel the color rushing to his face,  “My-?”

Lance touched his own scar. Keith could feel the heat from Lance’s fingertips on his neck. 

“From the other reapers?” Lance said, his hand still resting on his neck.  Keith gulped.

“Yeah, yeah. I mean,” Keith turned away from Lance. “I don’t think it matters anymore.”

Lance scooted a little closer, not letting Keith get any more distant, “What do you mean?”

Keith wanted desperately to move away. He wasn’t even sure how Lance just managed to close the distance between them. Instead, he scooted back and pulled his knees up to his chest. 

“Well, they sent a harpy on us,” Keith scoffed. “They definitely know about us now.”

Lance sat up with him. “So, what do we do?”

Keith paused. What left was there to do? He was completely off book. His plan had been to keep as much of a distance between him and Lance, hoping that if they kept separate, Lance would have less eyes on him. But, now? They were both screwed. Only a miracle could save them at this point.

“Honestly? I have no fucking clue," Keith replied. He shrugged, a small ambivalent smirk creeping across his face. 

Lance looked at him for a moment, trying to decipher his hidden meaning. There was none. With a resigned chuckle, Lance said, “I guess we’re fucked then?”

“Yeah, I suppose we are,” Keith leaned back into the fountain. A smile spread on his face as he realized something. “They could attack us at any moment.”

Lance leaned back with him, finally understanding the dier nature of their situation. “I guess we should be running then.”

“Yup," Keith said, popping the 'p'.

A beat. A moment of silence when instead of sitting there, walled in by their shitty Chinese food, they should have been running for their fucking life.

Neither of them moved. 

They turned to look at each other, each grinning madly. With a couple seconds of stupid staring, a stupid laughter bubbled up to compliment. The laughter burst in their chests, relieving the pain that had seemed so present just seconds ago. It was contagious, flowing wonderfully and purely between them. 

Just as Lance thought the episode was over, he would look at Keith, and suddenly the laughing fit hit him full force once more. Laughing not at their predicament, but more at the pure absurdity of the situation and their actions.

Remember in middle school, when 3AM was such a late time? Remember when you would stay up, and somehow everything seemed so silent and wonderful and hilarious at that time? You knew you had to get up early the next day, but you couldn't care less. 

It's sort of like that.

They were too tired to think properly, too exhausted to even move. Everything was blurred around the edges and it was just the right amount of vignette to be somewhat magical. The laughter was pure and good, albeit misguided and stupid. But, to our characters, that didn't matter. They enjoyed their small space in between the lines for the short moment that it lasted. 

Slowly, as the laughter died down and the ambiance of the mall rose once more, they were left wiping their eyes and staring at the other, the smiles now hiding something deeper. 

Lance bit his lip, still grinning at Keith. Keith stared back, for the first time, allowing himself to enjoy the attention. Maybe it was stupid to fight this. Maybe, just maybe, he could let himself to have this. 

But, as he studied Lance’s soft skin, noting every detail, the small laugh lines, the faint freckle below his eye, his soft lips, he also realized how incredibly tired Lance looked. His eyes were paired with dark bags, his cheeks seemingly sallow, the scar on his neck no longer covered with makeup, now exposed and pained.

Keith quickly dismissed his previous hopes.

Lance’s eyes widened, a eureka moment brightening on his face. He unwound the earbuds from his neck, handing one to Keith. The reaper took it hesitantly, tilting his head. 

“Just trust me,” Lance smiled. “Got the perfect song.”

Keith cautiously put it on, waiting as Lance scrolled through his iPod. After a small tap on the screen, Lance looked up at Keith, an excited smile filling his face. 

A clumsy acoustic guitar streamed through the earpiece. It sounded familiar. Keith plugged his other ear, focused on listening to Lance’s song.

The singer was British, a sort of nasally quality to his voice. Keith recognized him. 

“I know… I think I know this song,” Keith murmured, listening carefully to the lyrics. He began humming along, soon realizing that he innately knew each note. Once the drums kicked in, Keith looked up at Lance. 

“Oh no, love,” he softly sang along. “You’re not alone.”

Lance sat upright, his smile growing at Keith’s recognition, “You like Bowie?”

“Is that who sings this? I didn't know,” Keith leaned against the fountain. “Did this come out about fifty years ago?”

Lance shrugged, “I think this is 70’s Bowie. So like, sixty.”

“Yeah, that sounds right,” Keith nodded slowly. “That’s when I was alive.”

Keith turned, pretending to focus on the song. But out of the corner of his eye, he watched Lance, waiting for a reaction. The unanswered, unspoken questions budded in the air.

Keith wanted to answer them, he just wasn’t sure he would be able to. After a beat of silence, Lance finally spoke.

“I suppose that explains the mullet,” Lance scoffed quietly. Keith raised an eyebrow, not dignifying Lance with a response. Instead, he closed his eyes, listening to the lyrics. The song swelled, building faster and faster.

Keith shifted and let his hand lazily wade through the fountain water. It sparkled from the coins scattered below. 

Lance huffed, staring at the ground. Keith ignored him, focused on the water spilling over his fingers and the lyrics spelling out his thoughts. He began drumming out rhythm to the music, the swish of the fountain water melding into a beat. The cold water and the song fought for his attention. One tried calming him down, but the song stirred something inside. 

The water rippled, disturbing Keith’s rhythm. He froze as Lance’s finger brushed with his. His eyes shot open. Lance was staring pointedly at the ground as if nothing was happening. Their hands moved naturally together with the current, as if magnets were pulling at their fingertips. 

Lance bit his lip. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he croaked out. “I mean, I’m not really sure what this is but…”

Lance looked at Keith, trying to keep his gaze steady. 

“I mean, we’re stuck together, right? Like, whether yo- …whether we like it or not, we’re connected.”

Lance hooked their pinkies together. 

Keith looked down at the water with their hands, rippled and distorted, the copper and blues reflecting against their hands. His heartbeat rose again.

Lance tugged at their hands; Keith looked up. 

“You gotta keep me in the loop, bud,” Lance said, entangling their hands more. “I need to know things about what’s happening… about you…”

Keith pulled his hand away from Lance’s, breaking their eye contact. The energy shifted.

“I don’t-“

“I know, Keith,” Lance said quietly. “But, I’m here with you 'til the end. Remember?”

Keith didn’t acknowledge him. Lance reached down and gently placed his other hand on Keith’s lap. 

After a couple moments of staring, Keith turned to face Lance. He picked up Lance’s hand, removing it from his thigh. 

“I don’t think I have the answers you’re looking for.”

Lance gave his hand a small squeeze before letting it travel to Keith’s side. The reaper froze as soon as it landed on his waist. 

Lance leaned in. 

“I just want to know you, Keith,” Lance whispered. 

Keith froze, staring directly into Lance’s eyes. No, this is just what he wanted to avoid. No, this was bad, very, very bad. 

So why was he leaning closer?

His eyes darted down to Lance’s lips. He could feel his breathing stop, a small pause as they moved in closer. 

Some alarm was going off in the back of his mind, but he was far gone. Drunk off the proximity and mixing of air.

Lance pulled Keith closer, moving in with such confidence Keith didn’t even think to question it. 

He closed his eyes.

 

“HANDS IN THE AIR!”

  
They broke apart, staring shocked at each other, the spell disappearing into the air. Their chest rose heavily, breathing heavily. Lance looked down at his hand on Keith’s waist, almost as if he couldn’t comprehend the sight.

“HANDS IN THE AIR WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”

Lance’s hands shot in the air behind his head. Keith mourned the loss of contact. 

Slowly, he followed suit.

They stared at each other, both unable to say anything. A haze of yellow clouded around them. Keith looked up but was immediately jerked back, something gripping tight on his shoulders. He struggled against the hold, fighting with any last bit of strength he had.

In a second, he managed to break free. He crawled back, grabbing onto Lance's arm as he too was dragged away by the men in hazmat suits. 

Someone placed something over his mouth. 

That was the last thing he remembered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoooooo wassup  
> long time no seeee  
> !IMPORTANT!
> 
> my ko-fi page is finally up! I can't link it here, but it's on [my tumblr](http://www.letlancelive.tumblr.com/)! <33
> 
> did you like it??? ***commmennttt***  
> next chapters gonna be Fun imma excited
> 
> did yall forget keith is a fucking terrorist fugitive? cuz i sure as hell didn't
> 
> thanks for sticking with me, i haven't given up on this story yet :DD
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.letlancelive.tumblr.com/)


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